awwaxsxKWKsci^  ^  ^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mr,   and  Mrs.  Earl  Frown 


Tim  ally  walking  up  to  the  door  ^ryda  tapped  gently.— Page  48. 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


A  STORY  FOR  GIRLS  AND   BOYS, 


By  MRS.  E.  M.  FIELD. 


WITH  THIRTY-ONE  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  T.  PYM. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY, 
PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK. 


EDUC.. 

PSYCH. 
LIBRARY 


GIFT 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  PAGE 

Idle  Hands ...  = 1 

CHAPTER  n. 
A  Princess <>...„ 18 

CHAPTER  in. 
Another  Terrible  Scrape 28 

CHAPTER  IV. 
What  Can  I  Do? 43 

CHAPTER  V. 
Old  Roger 53 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Uncle  Jack's  Story < 63 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Beppo o       80 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Rest  of  the  Story 7 90 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Prince  in  Disguise 103 

CHAPTER  X. 
Beppo's  Friend 115 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Dreadfully  Frightened 129 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Some  Use  for  Moll 140 

288 


/ 
iy  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIII.  PAOB 

More  About  Beppo 152 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Beppo  in  Trouble 163 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Up  a  Tree. , 172 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Poor  Moll... . .   182 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Where  Thieves  Break  Through 193 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Friend,  Go  Up  Higher „  202 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAOB 

•* Pussy,  Pussy  1  Come  here,  Puss.". . . . .  = 10 

Maurice  Gray,  with  his  queer  little  Scotch  Terrier,  Toby 28 

Maurice  fills  the  Syringe  and  sets  to  work „ 36 

Timidly  walking  up  to  the  door  Bryda  tapped  gently 48 

And  where  the  water  fell  this  Spring  rose  up 59 

For  a  whole  week  there  were  Games » 74 

The  Fairy  came  flying  over  the  Town » o . . .  78 

"  Little  Boy,"  said  Bryda  shyly,  **  where  do  you  live?" 86 

"  Our  Father,"  Bryda  prayed,  "  let  me  help  Beppo." . . . .  88 

Tom,  who  had  now  become  a  Poet 93 

Bryda  after  looking  around  for  Beppo,  seized  the  Cat 132 

Bryda  and  Beppo  amuse  themselves  walking  about  the  Field  136 

Only  one  word,  too — "  Speranza." 159 

Bryda  appeared  to  have  thrown  the  Reading  Book  to  the  other 

end  of  the  room 160 

Bryda  called  to  the  old  woman,  who  laughed  and  shook  her 
fist 178 

Bryda  laughed,  and  then  looked  solemn o 203 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IDLE    HANDS. 


Bryda  was  very  lonely!  Not  because  she 
was  alone,  for  she  was  rather  fond  of  wandering 
off  by  herself,  away  from  every  one  else,  and 
talking  to  herself  and  to  the  birds  and  flowers, 
and  still  more  to  any  little  stream  that  came  in 
her  way.  But  then  to  be  alone  because  you 
fancy  it,  and  to  be  alone  because  there  is  no 
one  to  play  with,  are  two  very  different  things, 
and  the  last  was  Bryda's  case. 

^^If  I  had  even  a  kitten,"  she  said  aloud, 
standing  before  the  sundial  in  her  grand- 
mother's old-fashioned  garden,  and  looking  at 
the  shadow  that  did  not  seem  to  move  at  all. 
Bryda  had  read  of  King  Hezekiah,  for  whom 
the  shadow  moved  backward:  she    wished  it 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


would  move  a  little  forward  for  her,  and  bring 
tea  time,  after  which  meal  she  might  go  and  sit 
by   the    couch   of  her  invalid  cousin,  Salome, 


who  had  soft  fingers  that  rested  soothingly  on 
her  rumpled  hair,  and  a  soft  low  voice  that  told 
pleasant  stories  pleasantly,  and  good  long  ones, 
too. 

"  K  I  had  only  a  kitten  !" 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


Why,  only  yesterday,  before  Uncle  Jack 
went  away  and  took  all  tke  brightness  of  the 
house  with  him,  he  said  he  thought  there  were 
kittens  in  a  loft  over  the  stable,  and  he  would 
try  and  catch  one  for  Bryda.  But  he  had  gone 
off  on  a  shooting  expedition,  and  would  not  be 
home  for  days  and  days.  And  he  did  not 
know  how  lonely  Bryda  was. 

You  see  her  father  and  mother  had  gone 
abroad  a  fortnight  before  this  lonely  day,  and 
had  left  her  in  charge  of  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother. They  were  very  kind,  but  they  were 
so  old,  and  so  fond  of  going  to  sleep  in  their 
chairs  with  very  grave  books  before  them, 
always  open  at  the  same  place,  that  Bryda 
thought  they  looked  more  like  two  wax  figures 
from  Madame  Tussaud's  — put,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  fire  in  winter  and  of  the  big  window 
in  summer — ^than  like  real  people. 

They  had  lived  so  long,  probably,  that  they 
could  not  care  much  about  anything.  If  you 
told  any  striking  piece  of  news  to  grandmother 
she  only  said,  *'  Say  it  again,  my  dear.  I'm  a 
stupid  old  woman.     Sit  down  beside  me,  speak 


4  MIXED  PICKLES. 

slowly,  and  always  remember  to  wipe  your 
shoes  on  the  mat." 

If  you  had  just  rushed  in  full  of  the  great 
news  that  the  robin's  blue  eggs  in  that  dear 
little  nest  by  the  garden  door  were  gone,  &nd 
four  gaping,  featherless  darlings  were  there  in- 
stead, you  felt  that  it  was  much  worth  while  to 
try  and  make  grandmother  enter  into  the 
delight  of  the  surprise.  And  when  you  had 
told  her,  she  would  only  say,  "  Very  nice,  my 
dear;  very  charming,  Fm  sure.  Now  run  out 
again,  and  don't  get  freckled."  After  which  she 
would  smooth  down  her  heavy  watered-silk 
gown,  and  doze  over  the  big  grave  book  again. 

And  grandfather  was  worse.  He  had  long 
w^hite  hair,  and  a  veiy  long  white  beard,  and 
bushy  white  eyebrows ;  so  that  there  were  only 
two  round  spots  on  each  cheek  bone,  and  a  very 
narrow  strip  of  forehead — unless  you  included 
his  nose — on  which  to  kiss  him,  without  bury- 
ing your  face  in  white  hair  dusted  with  snuff. 
For  grandfather  took  a  great  deal  of  snuff,  and  if 
you — that  is,  if  Bryda — went  to  talk  to  hini, 
he  would  say,  when   he  was  awake  enough   to 


MIXED  PICKLES.  5 

listen,  "  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  quite  so,  exactly  so. 
Give  me  a  kiss,  my  dear ;  give  me  a  kiss.  I 
want  a  bite  from  those  cherries  on  your 
cheeks." 

And  then  came  the  difficulty  of  kissing 
grandfather  (who  did  not  like  to  be  refused) 
without  kissing  the  white,  snuff-scented  beard, 
which  was  only  to  be  avoided  by  a  sudden  and 
rapid  peck  at  the  two  rosy  circles  on  his  cheeks, 
or  the  little  bits  of  forehead  between  the  long 
locks. 

When  Bryda's  mother  went  away  her  last 
words  were: 

'*  Be  good  to  the  grannies,  my  darling,  and 
do  all  they  tell  you;  and  don't  forget  father 
and  mother." 

Here  the  mother's  voice  trembled  and  broke, 
and  she  got  very  quickly  into  the  carriage. 

Forget!  Oh,  no,  Bryda  could  not  forget 
And  she  tried  "to  be  good  to  the  grannies"  by 
kissing  grandfather  whenever  he  wished,  much 
as  she  disliked  the  operation,  and  trying  to  re- 
member all  grandmother  said  about  dry  shoes, 
and  sitting  in  draughts,  and  eating  slowly,  and 


6  MIXED  PICKLES. 

putting  on  pinafores,  and  various  other  little 
matters  we  are  all  familiar  with. 

Uncle  Jack  was  quite  different.  We  shall 
hear  more  of  him.  But  perhaps  the  house  was 
a  little  too  quiet  for  him ;  he  was  so  often 
away. 

The  dullness  did  not  matter  to  Cousin  Salome. 
She  lay  in  bed  all  the  morning,  and  was  care- 
fully wheeled  into  a  little  sunny  sitting-room  in 
the  afternoon ;  and  there,  when  the  pain  was 
not  too  bad  (for  she  had  hurt  her  back,  and 
would  never  be  well  again),  she  was  always 
ready  to  welcome  Bryda  with  that  quiet  smile 
on  her  white,  loving  face,  that  was  like  moon- 
light on  a  sea  that  sings  low  and  sadly  on  a 
summer  night. 

Uncle  Jack  was  away,  and  Cousin  Salome 
worse,  and  the  governess  who  was  to  come  and 
teach  Bryda  had  not  arrived  ;  and  so,  as  we 
have  seen,  Bryda  was  very  lonely,  and  very 
much  in  want  of  a  kitten.  She  looked  herself 
rather  like  a  kitten  that  has  got  wet,  for  a 
kitten  never  looks  so  forlorn  as  she  did  unless 
it  is  quite  wet,  and  perhaps  muddy  too. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  7 

Bat  in  two  minutes  after  this  bright  idea  had 
struck  her  Bryda  looked  much  like  the  same 
kitten  when  it  has  been  dried  by  a  nice  warm 
fire,  and  fed  on  creamy  milk,  and  has  licked  its 
paws  and  washed  its  face,  and  is  ready  for  the 
next  ball  of  wool  that  some  one  will  be  kind 
enough  to  throw  on  the  floor  for  it  to  play  with. 

Gathering  some  ripe  summer  pears,  and 
hastily  stuffing  them  into  the  pockets  of  her 
pinafore,  Bryda  hurried  off  to  the  stable.  It 
was  locked,  but  the  key  was  in  the  door;  it 
turned  easily,  and  she  found  herself  as  she 
entered  rather  near  the  heels  of  the  fat  old  car- 
riage-horses, Gog  and  Magog.  But  they  would 
not  kick ;  they  were,  or  seemed,  as  old  and 
sleepy  as  their  master  and  mistress.  Gog  in 
particular  would  really  rather  be  stung  by  a 
horsefly  than  take  any  particidar  trouble  about 
brushing  it  away.  They  w^ere  not  animals 
suited  to  Bryda's  taste,  however  much  grand- 
mother might  appreciate  their  steady  ways. 
They  were  like  those  horses  of  whom  the  little 
girl  in  the  poem  could  find  nothing  more  inter- 
esting to  tell  than  that 


S  MIXED   PICKLES. 

"  The  tails  of  both  hung  clown  behind. 
Their  shoes  were  on  their  feet." 

And  JohD,the  coachman,was  as  f at,and  old,8 
lazy  as  they  were.  Altogether  the  family  coauh, 
when  the  dear  old  folks  were  in  it,  was  quite  a 
curiosity.  Tliey  went  for  a  short  drive  every 
day,  one  day  along  one  of  the  roads  outside  the 
lodge  gates,  and  the  next  day  along  the  other, 
turn  about,  and  always  to  the  same  distance, 
which  Uncle  Jack  called  "going  to  there-and- 
back-again."  Only  on  Sunday  they  went  to 
church,  which  was  a  very  short  way  indeed, 
only  just  outside  the  gates  in  fact,  and  on  that 
day  they  did  not  sleep  in  the  carriage  as  they 
did  on  the  other  six  days. 

But  if  Bryda  was,  as  a  treat,  taken  for  a 
drive,  it  really  was  a  little  dull.  Both  the 
grannies  went  to  sleep,  and  nodded  so  that  poor 
Bryda  was  really  afraid  their  heads  might  come 
off;  and  John  the  coachman  looked  as  if  he 
were  asleep,  and  Gog  and  Magog  went  along  at 
such  a  slow,  solemn  trot  that  they  might  well 
be  walking  in  their  sleep,  too. 

So  Bryda  was  not  much  afraid  that  either  of 


MIXED  PICKLES.  9 

these  grave  old  horses  would  take  the  trouble 
to  kick  her.  But  she  had  not  the  same  con- 
jV'^ence  in  Uncle  Jack's  high-spirited  hunter^ 
tttddy,  who  lived  in  a  big  stall  with  a  bar  at 
the  end,  called  a  loose  box,  in  which  he  could 
walk  about;  and  now  he  put  his  handsome 
head  with  the  white  star  on  the  forehead  over 
this  bar,  and  looked  at  Bryda  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  What  business  have  you  here  V 

Next  to  Paddy's  loose  box  there  was  a  ladder, 
which  went  up  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling 
into  the  loft  where  hay  was  kept,  and  where 
Uncle  Jack  said  kittens  lived. 

Carefully  closing  the  stable  door,  Bryda,  with 
her  heart  certainly  beating  unusually  fast, 
climbed  the  ladder  without  stopping  to  think 
what  grandmother  would  say,  and  was  soon  up 
in  the  loft — a  delightful  place,  with  a  raftered 
roof,  and  little  windows  with  sprays  of  ivy 
pushing  their  way  in,  as  if  to  remind  the  scented 
hay  that  it  once  grew  outside  and  was  called 
green  grass. 

It  was  a  nice  place!  and,  oh,  joy!  from  a 
dark  corner  came  the  sound  Bryda  longed  for,  a 


10  MIXED  PICKLES. 

kitten's  "  mew !"  It  was  not  the  voice  of  an 
elderly  cat,  but  the  j)laintive  little  "mew"  of  a 
kitten,  and  Bryda,  as  she  went  toward  the  sound, 
could  see  a  pair  of  very  round,  bright  eyes. 
Carefully,  not  to  frighten  the  little  creature,  she 
went  toward  it ;  but,  alas !  kittens  born  in  lofts 
are  apt  to  be  wild  and  shy,  and  in  spite  of  all 
her  coaxing,  "  Pussy,  pussy  !  Come  here,  puss !" 
the  round,  bright  eyes  went  further  off,  and 
finally  the  kitten  took  refuge  in  the  darkest  cor- 
ner of  all.  But  Bryda  was  not  going  to  be 
beaten  by  a  kitten.  Treading  carefully  and 
slowly,  she  came  nearer;  one  step  more  and 
she  would  reach  the  soft,  furry  thing.  Another 
moment,  and  it  was  in  her  arms ;  and  Bryda, 
delighted,  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  hay,  and 
hugged  it,  saying,  "  Now,  kitty,  let's  pretend !" 
What  fun  the  games  are  that  begin  "  Let's 
pretend !"  Why,  one  can  be  a  king,  a  queen,  a 
judge,  or  a  lord  chancellor.  We  can  grow  up  in 
two  minutes  into  happy  people,  who  do  no  les- 
sons, and  can  order  exactly  what  they  like  for 
dinner  every  day,  and  need  not  go  to  bed  at  the 
dreadfully  early  hour  we  young  folks  must. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  11 

Then,  merely  to  eat  a  pear  is  so  dull !  Grown 
people  have  parties  to  amuse  them  at  dinner, 
the  very  dogs  growl  and  play  with  their  bones, 
and  the  cats  act  a  little  play  over  every  mouse 
they  catch. 

So  Bryda  would  be  Queen  Elizabeth  seated 
on  a  throne,  dining  off  goose  on  that  Michael- 
mas day  when  news  came  of  the  defeat  of  the 
great  Spanish  Armada.  The  kitten  should  be 
the  messenger,  a  pear  should  be  the  goose. 
Bryda  had  just  read  this  story  in  her  English  his- 
tory. Hay  makes  a  capital  throne;  Bryda  piled 
one  up,  and  had  just  sat  down  with  much  dignity, 
when 

Have  you  ever  heard  people  say,  when  some- 
thing awkward  happened,  they  would  like  to  go 
through  the  floor  ?  Poor  Bryda  did !  She  sud- 
denly tumbled  right  through  the  scattered  hay 
— right  through  the  ceiling ! 

She  was  not  really  hurt,  only  a  little  bruised, 
after  all ;  for  she  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  deep 
cage  with  strong  wooden  bars,  into  which  hay 
was  pushed  down  from  the  loft,  and  the  bottom 
of  this  cage  was  inside  Paddy's  loose  box,  close 


13  MIXED  PICKLES. 

to  the  manger.  So  that  the  first  thing  Bryda 
knew,  when  she  recovered  herself  enough  to 
look  round,  was  that  Paddy  was  standing 
looking  at  her,  and  seemed  very  much  surprised, 
as  well  he  might  be,  for  little  girls  were  not 
generally  kept  in  the  loft  along  with  the  hay, 
or  poked  into  his  stall  for  him  to  make  his 
dinner  off. 

In  fact,  it  is  ver}^  likely  that,  if  she  had  only 
known  it,  the  big,  beautiful  creature  was  much 
more  afraid  of  her  than  she  of  him. 

Indeed,  she  was  very  much  afraid,  and  grew 
more  and  more  frightened  as  the  horse,  finding 
she  did  not  move,  came  a  few  steps  nearer,  and 
then  began  snuffing  at  ter.  If  she  were  to  try 
to  climb  into  the  loft  again,  which  did  not  seem 
very  easy,  he  might — he  probably  would — bite 
her  long  black  legs,  she  thouglit. 

It  would  not  be  very  easy  to  climb  into  the 
loft  either;  the  cage  was  so  very  deep.  Wliat 
was  the  unfortunate  child  to  do  ?  Paddy  kept 
on  sniffing  at  her,  the  real  reason  being  that  lie 
could  smell  the  pears  in  her  pinafore  pocket. 
Bryda  could  smell  them  too,  and  a  bright  idea 


MIXED  PICKLES.  13 

struck  her.  She  remembered  a  fairy  tale  about  a 
princess  who  softened  the  hard  heart  of  a  lion  by 
feeding  him  with  cake.  Perhaps  this  nice  juicy 
fruit  would  have  the  same  good  effect  on  Paddy. 
Perhaps,  too,  while  he  was  eating  it  she  might 
escape.  Cautiously  she  drew  one  out,  and  it 
went  into  the  horse's  big  mouth  as  a  gooseberry 
would  have  gone  into  her  own,  and  was  as  quickly 
swallowed.  That  was  a  bad  plan ;  he  wanted 
more  at  once.  The  next  she  threw  on  the 
ground;  and  while  Paddy  stooped  his  sleek 
curved  neck  to  pick  it  up,  she  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  escape. 

In  vain  !  Hardly  had  she  risen  from  her 
cramped  position  and  made  a  struggle  to  get 
her  hands  up  to  the  floor  of  the  loft,  when  the 
bright  eyes  and  big  mouth  were  back  again, 
and  dreadfully  near  her  legs  ! 

"Oh,  don't!  don't!  Paddy!"  cried  Bryda. 
^'Here,  you  may  eat  all  my  pears,  but  really  I 
know  I  should  not  taste  nice ;  so  please  don't 
bite  me." 

The  remaining  pears  were  soon  gone;  but 
when  they  came  to  an  end  the  difficulty  still 


14  MIXED  PICKLES. 

remained,  and  Paddy  could  not  be  brought  to 
see  that  he  could  have  no  more  simply  because 
there  loere  no  more.  So  he  sniffed  and  sniffed, 
poking  his  nose  more  and  more  between  the 
bars,  and  showing  those  dreadful  teeth.  He 
only  wanted  pears ;  but  Bryda  grew  perfectly 
wild  with  fright,  and  finally,  when  Paddy 
actually  touched  her  hand  with  a  hot  nose,  she 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  gave  first  one  wild 
shriek  and  then  another,  and  another,  till  the 
spirited  horse,  terrified  by  the  noise,  plunged 
about  in  the  loose  box,  adding  still  more  to  her 
dismay ;  and  even  Gog  and  Magog  pricked  up 
their  ears,  and  looked  round,  as  if  they  would 
say,  "  Please  don't  spoil  our  digestion  by  this 
dreadful  screaming. 

To  Bryda's  joy,  however,  the  stable  door 
opened,  and  old  John  came  tottering  slowly 
in. 

"  Oh,  John  !  John  !  save  me  !  Don't  let  me 
be  eaten  up !"  implored  Bryda,  as  soon  as  she 
saw  him  ;  while  Paddy  became  more  composed, 
and  stopped  prancing. 

Old    John    scratched   his   liead  *     that   was 


MIXED  PICKLES.  15 

natural.  Then  he  very  deliberately  walked 
toward  the  ladder,  muttering  : 

"Well,  I'm  blessed  if  this  'ere  ain't  the 
rummiest  go  as  ever  I  see !" 

Which,  you  will  observe,  was  not  the  sort  of 
English  one  finds  in  the  dictionaries ;  but  then 
John  was  born  before  the  days  of  school 
boards. 

"  Oh,  John !  make  haste  !"  cried  Bryda  again. 

But  really  it  was  a  terribly  long  time  before 
John  climbed  the  ladder,  and  gave  his  hands  to 
the  frightened  child,  wio  was  soon  safe  on  the 
floor  of  the  loft. 

"  Be  you  hurt,  miss  ?"  asked  old  John,  look- 
ing at  her  as  if  she  were  a  china  figure  that 
might  have  lost  an  arm  or  a  leg  in  the  fall. 

But  Bryda  was  not  hurt ;  only  she  trembled 
from  head  to  foot,  and,  after  thanking  John, 
turned  away  and  walked  with  a  grave  face  into 
the  garden  again,  and  to  the  foot  of  the  old 
sundial. 

The  shadow  had  only  moved  on  half  an  hour. 
Bryda  tried  to  hold  her  hand  in  such  a  way  as 
to   make   another   shadow,  that   should   come 


16  MIXED  PICKLES. 

further  over  the  dial.  But  that  was  a  bad 
imitation  of  the  real  thing,  and  made  her  think 
of  one  evening  when  Uncle  Jack  had  told  her, 
with  such  a  serious  face,  to  take  a  candle,  and 
go  to  see  the  time  by  the  old  sundial ;  how  she 
had  actually  gone,  and  had  only  remembered 
when  she  got  there  that  the  sun  was  in  bed, 
and  therefore  could  not  tell  her  what  she  wanted 
to  know. 

Up  the  pillar  on  which  stood  the  dial  two 
very  large  snails  were  crawling — oh,  so  slowly ! 
They  seemed  to  go  even  more  slowly  than  the 
long  hot  hours. 

How  amusing  it  would  be  to  make  them  run, 
or  rather  crawl  races  !  Bryda  gathered  a  nice 
fresh  leaf,  and  put  it  at  one  edge  of  the  dial. 
Then  she  startled  the  two  snails  at  the  other 
end,  and  for  the  next  hour  or  so  was  perfectly 
happy  watching  them,  and  starting  them  again 
and  again. 

But  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  biggest  and 
fattest  snail  gave  up  the  game  in  disgust,  find- 
ing he  never  could  enjoy  his  leaf  quietly  when 
he   had  got   it,  because  a  giant  hand   always 


MIXED  PICKLES.  17 

camej  and  would  put  hJni  back  at  the  starting- 
place. 

So  he  drew  in  his  horns  first,  and  then 
went  bodily  into  his  house,  which  those  gentle- 
men conveniently  carry  on  their  backs.  There 
he  sulked,  and  would  come  out  no  more ;  so 
Bryda  threw  him  into  a  cabbage-bed,  and  went 
indoors. 

Bryda  had  so  many  funny  ways  of  amusing 
herself  that  Uncle  Jack,  who  was  very  fond  of 
making  jokes,  declared  she  "  lived  in  a  jar  of 
mixed  pickles."  Indeed,  these  same  amuse- 
ments often  ended  by  becoming  small  scrapes, 
which  he  called  Bryda's  pickles ;  and  we  shall 
see  that  they  were  of  all  sorts,  and  really 
**  mixed." 

None  are  very  wise  at  eight  years  old,  and 
many  of  us  are,  like  my  little  Bryda,  very 
anxious  to  do  rio;ht  and  be  of  some  use  in  the 
world.  So  we  will  follow  her  as  she  goes  into 
the  house. 


18  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  11. 

A   PEINCESS. 

Cousin  Salome  would  see  her  now,  and  so 
Eryda  went  to  the  invalid's  room. 

^'  You  look  very  miserable,  darling,"  said  the 
soft  voice  compassionately,  as  Bryda,  after 
kissing  her  cousin,  stood  looking  dolefully  out 
of  the  window. 

*'  I  am  very  miserable,  Cousin  Salome,"  she 
answered,  feeling  that  she  had  good  cause  for 
misery. 

"  Very  miseral)le,  when  you  can  run  about 
and  be  out  of  doors  with  the  sunshine  and 
the  birds  and  the  flowers  !  There  must  be 
something  very  bad  the  matter.  Come  and  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

Bryda  knelt  by  the  couch,  a  little  ashamed 
of  heiself.  Cousin  Salome  might  well  be  miser- 
able, so  ill  that  she  could  never  again  hope  to 
walk  in  the  sunny,  scented  garden. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  19 

*'It's  easy  for  you  to  be  good,  I  suppose, 
cousin,"  she  said.  "You  lie  here  all  day,  and 
don't  find  any  mischief  to  get  into." 

The  last  words  were  said  as  if  mischief  was  a 
sort  of  thing  that  came  to  you,  and  asked  you 
to  get  into  it — in  the  same  way  as  roast  pigs 
run  about  in  the  fairy  country,  holding  out  a 
knife  and  fork  and  crying,  "  Eat  me,  do ! 
please !" 

"  So  mischief  is  the  cause  of  the  great  misery !" 
said  Cousin  Salome,  smiling,  and  drawing  the 
little  girl  nearer  to  her.  "Tell  me  what  wa^ 
the  last  piece  of  mischief." 

Bryda  told  all  about  her  adventure  with 
Paddy,  and  ended : 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Salome,  I've  nothing  to  do  !" 

"  That's  the  beginning  of  all  mischief,  I  am 
afraid,  darling.  Do  bees  and  birds  get  into 
mischief  ?     Not  they,  they  are  too  busy." 

"  Well,  I  would  make  honey  or  a  nest  if  I 
knew  how,"  said  Bryda,  laughing.  "  If  I  could 
paint  a  picture  like  this,  I  should  be  happy." 

Cousin  Salome  had  been  painting.  She  could 
only  do  a  little  at  a  tima  and  that  with  diffi- 


so  MIXED  PICKLES. 

culty ;  but  she  had  drawn  a  very  beautiful 
figure  of  a  young  girl  in  a  rich,  old-fashioned 
dress,  sitting  by  an  open  window,  through  which 
could  be  seen  a  great  plain  and  a  large  town 
some  way  offc  The  girl's  face  was  full  of 
wonder,  and  rather  sad,  and  she  looked  away  at 
the  sunset  sky,  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  some- 
thing very  puzzling.  Bryda  took  up  the  pic- 
ture and  looked  at  it. 

^' That  IS  Princess  Isabel  of  Montenaro;  she 
is  doing  what  you  are  doing  now,  Bryda." 

"  What  I  am  doing,  cousin  ?" 

"  Yea  ;  wondei'ing  what  she  ought  to  do.  Do 
you  see  the  town  beyond  the  green  park  ?  That 
was  her  father's  capital,  and  a  dreadful  sickness 
broke  out  there,  so  that  people  died  by  hun 
dreds.  But  the  king  was  a  hard-hearted  man, 
and  spent  the  days  in  feasting  and  hunting,  and 
paid  no  heed  to  the  people's  sufferings." 

^^  Oh,   do   tell   me    the  story !"  cried   Bryda 
eagerly. 

Cousin  Salome  smiled. 

"  The  story,  as  I   have  it,  is  in  verse.     You 
would  not  like  that,  Bryda  ?" 


MIXED  PICKLES.  21 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes !     Please  read  it." 

*^  Can't  you  read  it  yourself  ?"  asked  Salome 
slyly. 

"  Oh,  no  r  with  great  energy.  ^^  Reading  is 
quite  different  from  being  read  to.  Why,  the 
story  tastes  quite  ten  times  nicer  when  you  listen 
to  it!" 

So  Cousin  Salome  opened  a  book  that  lay 
near,  and  began  to  read  in  her  gentle,  tired 
voice,  the  story  of  the  little  picture  she  had 
painted  of  the  Princess  Isabel. 

The  story  was  all  in  verse,  and  it  was  a  little 
hard  for  Bryda  to  understand ;  but  it  told  how 
the  princess  could  not  bear  to  know  that  others 
were  suffering  without  trying  to  help  them.  So, 
while  the  sounds  of  her  father's  noisy  feast 
came  up  into  her  quiet  room.  Princess  Isabel 
rose  up,  took  off  her  fine  dress  and  her  jewels, 
and  dressed  herself  very  simply.  Then,  fol- 
lowed only  by  two  of  her  ladies,  who  were 
unselfish  like  herself,  Isabel  went  down  on  foot 
to  the  plague-stricken  city,  and  there  remained, 
nursing  the  sick  and  caring  for  the  poor,  till  the 
dreadful  plague  was  at  last  gone.     Meantime 


22  MIXED  PICKLES. 

the  king  thought  he  could  forget  all  about  it, 
and  spent  his  time  in  hunting  and  feasting ; 
but  the  pestilence  came  even  into  his  palace, 
and  he  and  many  of  his  gay  court  died. 

Isabel  was  not  touched  by  it ;  and  when  the 
sad  time  was  over  she  remained  in  the  city 
working  for  the  poor  people,  and  helping  them 
till  she  died,  never  thinking  of  her  own  com- 
fort. So  the  people,  after  she  was  dead,  loved 
to  call  her  Saint  Isabel. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Bryda,  and  drew  a  long 
breath  when  the  story  was  finished.  She  had 
perhaps  not  understood  it  all,  but  one  thing 
was  clear. 

"  The  princess  was  never  idle,  Cousin  Salome. 
So  I  expect  slie  never  got  into  mischief. 
But  I  don't  think  it  was  nice  for  her  to  have 
no  playtime." 

"She  could  wait  for  her  playtime,  dear," 
answered  Cousin  Salome  gently.  "She  would 
enjoy  it  all  the  more,  perhaps,  because  she  had 
worked  so  hard." 

The  sick  lady  turned  a  little  and  looked  out 
at  the  quiet  evening.     Noisy  rooks  were  flying 


MIXED  PICKLES.  23 

home  to  roost,  meek  cows  slowly  walking  off 
to  be  milked  ;  on  a  large  tree  a  peacock  and 
his  two  wives  were  settling  themselves  for 
sleep. 

Bryda  looked  out  of  the  window,  too. 

"I  think  the  stars  are  afraid  of  the  great 
big  sun,  Cousin  Salome.  Do  you  see  the  way 
they  first  poke  out  their  heads,  and  look  to  see 
if  he  is  really  gone,  and  then  come  right  out  to 
do  their  little  shining  ?" 

Cousin  Salome  laughed,  and  the  deep  lines 
that  sickness  had  written  seemed  to  grow 
fainter,  and  make  her  younger  and  rounder, 

'^  Their  little  worktime  is  just  beginning. 
They  look  as  if  they  came  out  smiling,  with 
clean  bright  faces,  ready  to  do  as  they  are 
bidden." 

"Poor  Cousin  Salome  !"  said  Bryda,  stroking 
the  thin  white  hand  that  lay  weak  and  idle 
on  the  soft  coverings.  "You  can't  w^ork  or  play 
either.  You  must  be  very  unhappy.  I  should 
be." 

"  When  I  was  your  age,  darling,  I  built  my- 
self grand  castles  in  the  air.     Oh,  how  many 


24  MIXED   PICKLES. 

nice  things  I  meant  to  do  when  I  grew  up! 
But  I  was  given  a  different  sort  of  work,  a 
much  harder  one  to  me,  dear  child — the  work 
of  patiently  doing  nothing." 

Bryda  looked  sorely  puzzled. 

"Never  mind,"  went  on  Cousin  Salome. 
"You  are  not  set  to  that  work,  Bryda,  nor  to  a 
great  work  like  Princess  Isabel's.  Just  now 
you  will  find  there  are  plenty  of  little  works 
ready  for  you  to  do — little  crumbs  .of  which  to 
make  a  great" loaf." 

"  Picking  up  grannie's  stitches  when  she 
drops  them  ?  asked  Bryda.  Grandmother's 
knitting  was  often  in  that  sort  of  state. 

"That  may  be  one  thing.  They  are  ^^lenty 
more.  Shall  I  tell  you  an  old  German  story, 
about  the  use  of  little  things  ? 

"  Once  upon  a  time  some  people  lived  in  a 
plain,  at  the  edge  of  which  there  was  the  sea. 
They  lived  here  long  and  liappily ;  but  one  sad 
day  the  sea  began  to  rise  and  oveiiiow  the 
plain,  creeping  every  day  a  little  nearer  the 
prosperous  village. 

"So  the  people  were  sorely  frightened,  an(f 


MIXED   PICKLES. 


25 


tried  to  build  earthworks;  but  the  sea  washed 
away  at  nighc  what  they  had  doue  iu  the  day. 
"  These  were    days    very   long   ago,    when, 


according  to  the  old  stories,  God  would  answer 
men  from  heaven  when  they  called  to  Him. 

"So  the  people  prayed  and  asked  God  to 
send  them  His  great  angels,  that  they  might 
make  hills  for  them  to  protect  their  homes  and 
fields  from  the  terrible  waters. 

"  But  God  answered,  ^  My  angels  have  already 


20  MIXED  PICKLES. 

their  work;  they  cannot  help  you  in  this.  But 
to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  I  will  send  to  you  an  army 
of  My  laborers;  they  shall  make  you  sand-hills.' 

"So  the  villagers  were  very  glad,  and  next 
morning  they  rose  early,  before  the  sun,  won- 
derini2f  what  sort  of  laborers  these  would  be. 

"  ^  Perhaps  the  happy  spirits  of  our  fathers 
will  come  back  to  help  us ;  perhaps  men  from 
the  south  country — a  kind  and  friendly  people 
— will  be  sent  to  work  for  us.     Perhaps ' 

"  But  all  their  wonder  was  in  vain,  and  it  was 
changed  to  surprise  and  dismay  when,  as  the 
sun  rose,  they  saw  coming  swiftly  from  the  east 
an  army  of — what  do  you  think,  Bryda  ?" 

"  Lions  and  tigers  ?"  asked  Bryda,  with  wide- 
open  eyes.     "Elephants?     People?     Giants?" 

"No,  indeed;  neither  great,  strong  animals, 
nor  clever  men,  but  hundreds  and  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  ants !" 

"Ants,  cousin?     What  use  would  they  be?" 

"  You  shall  hear.  Each  ant  carried  one  grain, 
or  what  seemed  to  be  one  grain,  of  sand.  On 
and  on  they  came,  and  the  ground  was  quite 
black  with  their  hosts.     The   people   looked, 


MIXED  PICKLES.  37 

and  gradually  their  murmurs  grew  to  one  great 
roar  of  discontent.  But  God's  little  laborers 
paid  no  attention.  They  had  their  Master's 
will  to  do,  and  so  long  as  that  was  done  they 
cared  for  neither  the  praise  nor  the  blame  of  His 
other  creatures.  So  all  day  long  they  worked, 
each  little  ant  carrying  his  little  load ;  and 
when  the  sun  set  there  was  a  great  line  of  sand- 
hills, so  high  that  no  waves  could  wash  over 
them,  so  thick  that  no  storm  could  break  them 
down,  between  the  happy  villagers  and  the  sea." 

"  Then  the  people  stopped  grumbling,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"We  will  hope  so.  And  perhaps  they  learned 
that  God  can  use  the  smallest  things  to  do  His 
work  with.  The  little  ants  were  as  useful  in 
their  way  as  the  noble,  unselfish  Princess  Isabel. 
Now,  dear,  I  am  getting  very  tired ;  ^vill  you 
sit  quietly  and  look  at  pictures,  or  run  away  and 
see  the  grannies  ?" 

Bryda  chose  the  pictures,  and  sat  as  still  as  a 
mouse  in  the  window,  looking  first  at  a  picture, 
and  then  out  of  the  window,  and  saying  to 
herself  that  she,  too,  would  try  to  be  of  some  use. 


28  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ANOTHER    DREADFUL   SCRAPE. 

The  next  morning  Biyda  was  awakened  from 
her  pleasant  morning  sleep  by  a  strange  sound. 
Her  window  was  partly  open,  but  something 
struck  against  the  upper  sash ;  it  was  not  a  bird 
that  bad  lost  its  way,  nor  a  wasp  come  to  look 
for  jam,  for  as  Bryda  raised  her  head  something 
that  could  only  be  a  handful  of  light  gravel  or 
shot  struck  the  window  again,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  clear,  shrill  whistle  sounded  outside. 

Bryda  hastily  sprang  up.  One  does  not  care 
mucli  alxnit  dress  at  nine  years  old,  so  in  white 
nightdress  and  dark  twisted  hair  she  fearlessly 
put  Her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  saw,  to 
her  delight,  her  cousin,  Maurice  Gray,  a  boy 
some  two  years  younger  than  herself,  with  his 
queer,  ugly  little  Scotch  terrier,  Toby,  standing 


Maurice  Gray  with  his  queer  little  Scotch  terrier  Toby.— Page  28. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  29 

on  the  lawn.  She  need  not  be  sad  for  want  of 
a  playmate  to-day. 

"  Get  up  and  dress  !"  cried  Maurice.  "  Aren't 
you  ashamed,  my  Lady  Lie-in-bed  ?  Come  out 
directly  !" 

Bryda  did  not  need  a  second  invitation.  A 
very  short  time  indeed  passed  before  she  was 
by  Maurice's  side. 

His  father  had  brought  him  over,  he  said ;  his 
father  wanted  to  see  grandfather  about  some 
business,  so  he  had  started  off  very  early. 
Maurice  was  dreadfully  hungry,  and,  as  the 
grannies  never  breakfasted  till  ten,  he  and 
Bryda  each  got  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and  jam 
from  the  good-natured  cook,  and  then  went  off 
to  the  garden,  Bryda  running  races  with  Toby, 
who  mostly  had  the  best  of  it.  You  see  he  had 
four  legs  to  Bryda's  two. 

They  went  to  the  vinery,  and  acted  a  little 
play,  which,  however,  wanted  a  few  more  actors 
sadly.  It  was  so  puzzling  for  Bryda  to  be  both 
the  imprisoned  princess  and  the  ogre  at  once ; 
and  when  Maurice,  the  valiant  knight,  slew 
Toby  for  a  dragon,  and  stepped  over  his  corpse 


30  MIXED   PICKLES. 

(or  would  have  done,  if  Toby  had  been  a  little 
more  dead,  and  not  run  away  every  other 
minute),  it  got  really  puzzling,  and  it  was  well 
that  the  breakfast-bell  rang  at  that  moment. 

Breakfast  was  rather  a  long,  dull  affair. 
Uncle  James,  Maurice's  father,  explained  to 
grandfather  a  great  deal  about  a  drainage 
scheme;  and  grandmother,  every  five  minutes, 
asked  her  maid  Martha,  who  stood  behind  her 
chair,  to  tell  her  what  it  was  all  about,  which 
Martha  had  to  do  in  very  loud  whispers  over 
and  over  again. 

Maurice  and  Bryda  were  very  glad  to  run 
out  again,  with  special  directions  from  grand- 
mother to  keep  off  wet  grass,  and  not  get  into 
mischief.  This,  they  thought,  could  not  possibly 
happen.  This  time  they  rambled  into  the  farm- 
yard. Bryda  would  not  look  for  more  kittens, 
but  tried  to  make  friends  with  some  small  balls 
of  fluff,  which  meant  some  day  to  be  turkeys. 
At  one  corner  of  the  yard  was  a  deep  tank,  or 
little  pond,  full  of*  a  dark  brown,  rather  thick 
fluid,  which  was  used  in  the  garden  and  fields, 
and  had  a  great  effect  in  the  way  of   making 


MIXED  PICKLES.  31 

things  grow.  Bryda  and  her  cousin  stood  look- 
ing at  it. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Bryda,  "it's  like  the  Styx  !" 

"  I  don't  see  any  sticks,"  said  ignorant 
Maurice,  who  had  never  learned  that  the  old 
heathens  believed  the  souls  of  dead  people  went 
in  a  ferryboat  across  a  dark  river  called  the 
Styx,  and  that  the  old  man  who  rowed  the  boat 
was  called  Charon. 

Bryda  thought  it  would  be  capital  fun  to  act 
this  little  scene.  Certainly  the  treacle-colored 
stuff  in  the  pool  looked  nasty  enough  to  do 
very  well  for  this  dark  river. 

As  to  Maurice,  he  was  younger  than  his 
cousin,  and  when  they  were  together  she  always 
invented  the  games,  although  he  had  been  to 
school  already,  and  thought  girls  generally  were 
very  little  use. 

•  So  when  Bryda  explained  what  she  wanted 
to  do,  he  only  said  that  he  did  not  know  how 
to  act  a  story  that  he  had  never  heard ; 
to  which  Bryda  only  answered  quietly,  and  as 
if  it  were  a  fact  no  one  could  think  of  doubtinc: 
for    a   moment,  "  You    don't   know    anything 


32  MIXED  PICKLES. 

about  anytliing,  Maurice.  Sit  down  there — no  ! 
not  on  a  cabbage,  but  on  the  wheelbarrow — 
and  I  ^vill  tell  you  all  about  it." 

So  she  told  him  the  story,  in  the  middle  of 
which  the  wheelbarrow  upset,  because  Maurice 
laughed.  So  he  sat  on  a  log  of  wood,  and  Bryda 
picked  up  the  wheelbarrow,  got  into  it,  and 
began  in  the  words  of  one  of  her  lesson-books, 
with  a  little  alteration  to  suit  the  occasion. 

"  Friend  !  Roman  !  Countrypan  !  lend  me 
your  ears  !     I  am  Charon " 

''  What  ?"  asked  Maurice. 

"  Don't  spoil  my  speech  !  You  may  only  say 
*  Hear,  hear  !'  as  they  do  in  Parliament." 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  want  to  hear  ?" 

Bryda  had  no  notion  of  wliat  they  would  do 
under  such  urdikely  circumstances;  so,  after 
thinking  a  little,  she  merely  said,  ^^ Don't  be 
silly,  Maurice  !"  And  that  sort  of  answer  puts 
an  end  to  any  argument  quite  easily. 

"  This  is  my  dog  Cerberus,  with  three  heads," 
went  on  Bryda,  pointing  to  Toby. 

^*  My  !  what  a  lot  of  bones  he  would  eat !" 
said  his  master. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  33 

Bryda  suddenly  jumped  down  from  her  rather 
unsteady  pulpit. 

"  Oh,  we  loill  have  fun !  Here,  Maurice, 
put  on  my  white  pinafore.  You  shall  be  a 
ghost,  and  I  will  get  into  the  tub  with  my  dog 
Cerberus,  and  ferry  you  over  the  river,"  she 
said. 

"  It  won't  hold  two,"  said  Maurice,  looking 
rather  doubtfully  at  the  rotten  tub  which  Bryda 
pushed  into  the  filthy  waters,  making  a  splash 
and  a  most  horrible  smell  as  it  went  in. 

"  Oh,  ghosts  don't  want  much  room  !  Now, 
Cerberus,  in  you  go !"  and  in  the  poor  dog  went, 
hastily  and  ungracefully ;  being,  in  fact,  thrown 
in  head  foremost. 

After  one  howl  he  resigned  himself,  and 
lay  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  tub,  into  which 
unsteady  boat  Bryda,  armed  with  her  own  small 
spade,  followed  with  Maurice's  help. 

Having  balanced  herself  by  crouching  down, 
so  as  to  bring  the  center  of  gravity  to  the  right 
place,  she  proceeded  to  paddle,  or,  as  she  called 
it,  to  row  with  the  little  wooden  spade,  splash- 
ing a  good  deal,  and,  of  course,  making  the  tub 


34  MIXED  PICKLES. 

turn   round  and  round,  and  wriggle  very  un- 
comfortably in  the  pool. 

^'  Well,  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  Charon,  giving 
up  in  despair,  and  looking  very  red  in  the  face. 
"We  can  pretend  I  crossed  the  Styx  to  fetch 


you.  Now  I  must  speak  to  the  soul  in  Latin, 
because,  of  course,  Charon  and  Cerberus  talked 
Latin  always." 

"  I  suppose  Cerberus  barked  in  Latin — all 
three  mouths  at  once,"  said  Maurice ;  "  what  a 
horrid  row  it  must  have  been !" 

"  Now  talk  away,"  said  Bryda. 

"  But  we  dont  know  Latin ;  IVe  only  just 
begun  at  hie,  hcec,  hoc.'''' 

"  That  doesn't  matter;  we  must  make  it  up, 


MIXED  PICKLES.  35 

of  course.  If  we  put  '  us '  or  ^  o '  at  the  end 
of  every  word  it  will  sound  exactly  like  the 
stuff  Cousin  Ronald  learns.  Now :  Poor-us 
soul-US,  do-US  you-us  want-o  to  cross  over-o  ?" 

"  Yes-o,"  replied  Maurice  promptly. 

"  Then-us  come-o — oh  !  oh  !"  screamed  Bryda, 
making  the  last  word  very  long  indeed; 
for  she  trod  on  the  one  tail  of  the  dog  Cerberus, 
causing  that  remarkable  animal  to  jump  up 
howling.  Cbaron's  ferryboat  was  not  built  to 
allow  of  athletic  sports  on  board,  so  it  went 
over,  and  Bryda  went  in. 

Oh,  dear !  what  word  can  describe  the  filthy 
mess  into  which  Bryda  was  plunged  up  to  her 
waist !  the  smell  of  it,  and  the  chill,  horrible 
feeling !  Fortunately,  she  had  just  taken 
Maurice's  hand,  to  help  in  "the  soul,"  who 
indeed  felt  very  lucky  to  escape  such  a  voyage ! 
Maurice  was  able  to  help  her,  but,  soaked  to 
the  waist  and  ready  to  cry,  she  scrambled  up  to 
dry  land. 

By  way  of  mending  matters,  the  dog  Cer- 
berus, who  may  be  supposed  to  have  become 
Toby  again,  had  gone  in  altogether,  and  was 


36  MIXED  PICKLES. 

rather  pleased  with  himself.  So  he  came  and 
had  a  good  shake  close  to  Bryda,  so  as  to  splash 
all  the  rest  of  her  small  peison,  and  then  ran 
round  and  romid,  expressing  his  delight  by  all 
sorts  of  queer  noises. 

But,  oh !  here  was  a  mess !  And  this  after 
the  trouble  of  yesterday,  and  all  Bryda's  good 
resolutions !  It  was  too  dreadful,  and  tears 
came  fast  to  her  eyes. 

But  kind  Maurice,  instead  of  laughing,  pitied 
her.     "  Don't  cry,"  he  said ;  *'  can't  you  wasli  V 

"  I  might  run^''  said  Bryda  dolefully,  remem- 
bering what  dreadful  things  happened  to  frocks 
that  "ran." 

"That  stuff  might  run  off,"  said  Maurice; 
"  come  on." 

And  she  followed  meekly  to  the  nearest 
greenhouse,  where  was  a  large  tirb  of  fresh 
water,  and  beside  it  a  big  squirt  or  syringe  used 
for  watering  plants  high  up  in  the  greenhouse. 

"Oh,  Maurice  dear,  I  never  will  call  you 
stupid  again !"  cried  Bryda,  delighted,  as  Mau- 
rice filled  the  syringe  and  set  to  work  upon  her. 
What  fun  that  was  I     It  was  almost  worth  the 


MIXED   PICKLES.  37 

fright  of  that  horrid  splash,  and  almost — not 
quite,  perhaps — worth  the  disgrace  Bryda  would 
certainly  be  in  with  nurse.  Such  peals  of 
laughter  followed  each  shower  that  the  quiet 
cows  in  the  fields  beyond  lifted  up  their  great 
heavy  heads,  and  stared  with  brown  eyes  of 
mild  astonishment. 

Can  you  imagine  the  sort  of  figure  Bryda  was 
when  grandmother  came  out  in  her  wheel-chair 
to  take  a  turn  in  the  sunshine  ?  Soaked  from 
head  to  foot ;  streams  of  clean  water,  and  others 
of  the  horribly  smelling  stuff  into  which  she 
had  plunged,  pouring  off  her  in  all  directions  ! 
She  did  indeed  look  a  miserable  little  guilty 
thing,  hanging  her  head  while  grandmother 
looked  at  her  through  her  gold  eyeglass,  evi- 
dently so  surprised  and  shocked  that  she  could 
find  no  words  for  a  few  minutes,  and  at  last 
could  only  tell  her  she  must  never!  never! 
never !  do  such  dreadful  things  again.  If  she 
did,  the  consequences  would  be 


This  row  of  stars  must  stand  for  those  dread- 


38  MIXED  PICKLES. 

ful  consequences,  for  Bryda  never  heard  them ! 
Uncle  James  and  grandfather  had  conie  up  by 
this  time,  and  she  fled,  as  fast  as  wet,  clinging 
clothes  would  let  her,  to  the  house.  It  was 
"out  of  the  fryiug-pan  into  the  fire,"  though, 
for  nurse's  wrath  was  really  something  too 
dreadful ;  and  the  way  in  which  she  ended,  by 
saying  that  she  supposed  Miss  Bryda  would  like 
better  to  make  mud  pies  in  the  streets  than  to 
play  with  other  Christians,  hurt  the  child's  feel- 
ings dreadfully.  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  walked 
out  of  the  nursery  with  damp,  smooth  hair  and 
a  clean  frock,  but  with  her  head  so  very  much 
in  the  air  that  her  namesake,  Saint  Bride,  or 
Bridget,  or  Bryda,  would  have  been  quite 
shocked. 

"  You  see,  Cousin  Salome,"  she  said  afterward, 
^^  it  was  such  a  dose  of  disgraces,  and  I  meant 
to  be  so  wise,  and  clever,  and  useful." 

"  Did  you  ash  to  be  made  wise,  and  clever, 
and  useful  ?"  asked  Salome  gently. 

Bryda  hung  her  head.  She  had  forgotten 
that.  I  am  afraid  she  dressed  so  quickly  in  the 
morning  to  join  Maurice  that  she  never  lenieiu- 


MIXED  PICKLES.  39 

bered  to  ask  the  Helper  of  the  helpless  to 
make  her  what  she  would  like  to  be. 

"I  have  been  so  miserable,  Cousin  Salome," 
she  added;  ^*I  don't  believe  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  could  have  been  more  wretched  if  she 
had  had  her  head  cut  off  three  times  running." 

How  this  was  to  be  managed  did  not  seem  to 
strike  Bryda  as  puzzling.  She  and  Maurice  had 
so  often  acted  the  execution  of  Mary  of  Scot- 
land, with  an  armchair  for  the  block,  and  an 
umbrella  for  an  ax,  that  they  were  quite  used 
to  the  queen  having  her  head  cut  off  very  often 
without  minding  it  in  the  least,  or  being  any  the 
worse  for  it  afterward. 

But,  certainly,  it  is  very  tiresome  when  our 
most  amusing  games  end  in  some  mischief  that 
we  never  dreamed  of  doing !  It  was  not  so  very 
long  before  this  dreadful  accident  in  the  tub 
that  Bryda,  who  had  been  reading  English  his- 
tory, told  Maurice  they  would  act  King  Canute 
and  his  courtiers  on  the  seashore. 

So  she  put  two  chairs,  and  collected  all  the 
water  she  could  from  every  jug  and  water-bottle 
she  could  find,  so  as  nearly  to  fill  a  bath  placed 


40  MIXED  PICKLES. 

in  front  of  the  two  chairs  on  which  she  and 
Maurice  sat. 

"  So  they  put  chairs  close  by  the  seashore  as 
the  tide  came  in,"  related  Bryda,  "  and  the  little 
waves  came  nearer  and  nearer.  And  the  courtiers 
said,  '  O  king,  let  us  move  a  little  higher  up.' 
But  Canute  said,  'Why  should  we?  Did  you 
not  say  I  was  such  a  great  king  that  no  doubt 
even  the  sea  would  obey  me?'  And  the  cour- 
tiers held  their  stupid  tongues,  for  they  knew 
very  well  that  they  had  said  so.  But  the  tide 
kept  on  coming,  and  presently  the  courtiers  got 
up  and  ran  away,  for  the  water  was  halfway  up 
the  legs  of  their  chairs,  and  they  had  already 
been  sitting  with  their  knees  up  to  their  noses." 

But  here  Bryda,  trying  to  get  herself  into 
this  graceful  position,  lost  her  balance,  and 
rolled  off  her  chair,  falling  on  the  edge  of  the 
bath ;  which,  of  course,  upset,  and  made  a  higher 
tide  in  the  nursery  than  had  ever  been  seen  there 
before,  for  the  water  flowed  in  every  direction, 
and  the  children,  ashamed  and  frightened 
though  they  were,  could  not  help  laughing  at 
the  way  in  which  a  pair  of  Bryda's  shoes  floated 


MIXED  PICKLES.  41 

about  like  little  canoes,  till  one  that  liad  a  hole 
at  the  side  turned  over  and  went  down. 

This  happened  at  Bryda's  own  home,  before 
her  father  and  mother  went  away.  Mother  was 
not  pleased,  of  course ;  but  still  she  was  not 
quite  so  dreadfully  shocked  as  the  grannies  were 
at  the  adventure  in  the  old  tub. 


42  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

WHA  T     CAN     I     DO? 

It  was  in  a  penitent  frame  of  mind  that  By  rda 
awoke  on  Sunday  morning.  She  would  be 
really  good  and  keep  out  of  mischief  all  day 
long. 

Cousin  Salome  was  better  this  morning,  and 
Bryda  went  in  to  see  her  after  breakfast. 

"  No,  dear,  I  cannot  go  to  church,"  she  said, 
when  Biyda  asked  if  she  would  go  that  morn- 
ing ;  ^^  but  I  dare  say  church  will  come  to  me. 
I  shall  read  to  myself,  and  think  of  all  the 
people  all  over  the  world  who  are  saying  the 
same  words  of  prayer,  till  my  little  room  seems 
to  grow  into  a  piece  of  a  great  church."  And 
Salome's  white,  thin  face  grew  so  bright  and 
sweet  that  Bryda  thought  it  looked  like  an 
angel's  face  in  a  picture  she  had  seen. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  43 

The  idea  helped  her  to  sit  much  more  still 
than  usual  in  the  old  family  coach,  opposite  the 
two  dear  old  grannies. 

Grandfather  was  a  very  polite  old  gentleman, 
and  thought  people  nowadays  too  free  and 
easy.  Especially  he  held  that  no  gentleman 
ever  ought  to  drive  with  ladies  with  his  hat  on ; 
so,  as  soon  as  he  got  into  the  carriage,  he  always 
took  off  his  very  well  brushed  tall  hat,  and  fixed 
it  by  the  brim  in  two  ribbons  fastened  for  the 
purpose  along  the  carriage  ceiling. 

Grandmother  always  wore  a  bonnet  of  the 
shape  that  was  in  fashion  when  she  was  young, 
a  curious  coal-scuttle  affair,  which  generally  set 
Bryda  wondering  how  the  wrinkled  old  face 
looked  when  its  pink  cheeks  were  round,  and 
whether,  if  she  were  to  go  to  work  with  a  piece 
of  india-rubber,  she  could  rub  out  the  deep  lines 
and  get  the  young  look  back  again. 

Grandmother's  eyes  were  dim,  and  she  liked 
to  have  the  lessons  and  the  hymns  found  for 
her.  Bryda  sometimes  did  not  care  to  do  this ; 
because,  if  the  hymn  were  a  short  one,  it  was 
sometimes  half  over  before  she  had  found  her 


44  MIXED  PICKLES. 

own  place,  and  was  able  to  join,  as  she  dearly 
liked  to  do,  in  the  singing. 

But  to-day  she  really  did  want  to  be  of  use, 
so  she  did  this  small  duty  cheerfully,  and  was 
rewarded  by  the  happy  way  in  which  the  old 
lady  smiled  and  nodded  over  the  big  printed 
book. 

The  sermon  seemed  to  have  to  do,  in  a  most 
curious  way,  with  the  very  things  of  which 
Bryda  had  been  thinking,  and  she  quite  started 
when  the  rector's  voice  said  suddenly,  "  Noth- 
ing to  do  r  and  there  stopped.  "  Nothing  to 
do,"  he  said,  '^  when  the  whole  world  is  full  of 
things  tliat  want  doing  !  The  harvest  ripe,  but 
the  laborers  idle !  The  people  hungry,  and 
those  who  have  the  loaves  and  fishes  keeping 
them — wasted,  unused!" 

The  clergyman  went  on  to  speak  of  works 
that  men  and  women  might  do,  and  Bryda 
nestled  close  against  grandfather's  shoulder  and 
thought  sadly,  *'  When  I  am  grown  up  I  may 
be  of  some  use,  but  what  a  long  time  off  that 
is !"  But  presently  she  looked  up  again  very 
brightly  as  the  kind  old  rector  went  on  : 


MIXED  PICKLES.  45 

"And  now,  what  shall  I  say  to  the  little 
ones?  Just  this,  that  the  Father  needs  them 
quite  as  much  as  their  elders.  They  may  not 
be  able  to  do  great  works,  to  reap  the  hardest 
field,  but  they  may  help  with  cords  of  love  to 
bind  the  sheaves ;  they  may  glean  the  scattered 
ears,  and  make  a  little  sheaf  of  good  corn.  The 
Lord  took  a  "  few  small  fishes "  to  serve  His 
great  purpose;  He  will  take  little  hands  and 
feet  and  hearts,  and  make  them  do  His  will. 
Only  the  little  ones  must  be  willing ^ 

Yes  !  But  he  had  not  told  Bryda  what  she 
might  do,  and  how  to  set  about  doing  the  Lord's 
will  seemed  to  her  very  puzzling. 

She  wondered  about  it  the  whole  way  home, 
and  made  a  little  plan,  which  she  determined 
to  carry  out  at  once  after  luncheon.  When 
grown-up  people  were  very  good,  Bryda  knew 
that  they  were  fond  of  caring  for  the  poor,  and 
that  then  they  generally  carried  soup  to  those 
who  were  sick,  and  read  the  Bible  aloud  in 
cottages.  In  her  own  town  home  she  had  never 
been  into  the  houses  of  the  poor  at  all ;  indeed, 
these  houses  were  so  hidden  away  behind  the 


46  MIXED  PICKLES. 

handsome  streets  in  which  the  rich  lived,  that 
she  hardly  knew  there  were  such  places.  But 
here,  in  the  little  village  outside  grandfather's 
lodge  gates,  she  knew  poor  people  lived,  mostly 
in  neat  cottages  with  honeysuckle  climbing  over 
their  trellised  porches.  There  were  most  likely 
nice  old  women  there,  who  sat  knitting  in  their 
tidy  room,  with  spectacled  eyes,  and  caps  as 
white  as  snow.  It  would  be  nice  to  go  there, 
and  surely  to  visit  them  would  be  useful,  and 
would  please  Him  who  made  use  of  a  "  few 
small  fishes  "  to  do  His  work  when  He  was  on 
earth. 

Full  of  this  happy  thought,  Bryda  descended 
to  the  kitchen.  The  servants'-hall  dinner  was 
just  over,  the  kitchen-maid  was  washing  plates 
in  the  scullery,  and  cook  was  sitting  l)y  the 
kitchen  window  with  a  very  clean  apron  and 
very  smart  cap ;  while  by  her  stood  a  tall  young 
shepherd,  in  his  Sunday  best,  and  a  flower  in 
his  coat. 

Bryda  made  her  request  to  cook,  namely,  that 
she  might  have  a  little  soup  in  a  jug. 

*^  Whatever  do  you  want  it  for,  miss  ?"  asked 


MIXED  PICKLES.  47 

■  • 

the  cook,  evidently  ill-pleased  by  the  interrup- 
tion. 

"I  want  to  do  good  to  the  poor,  answered 
she,  looking  up  seriously  at  the  cross  face. 

"Dear!  miss:  what  an  old-fashioned  child 
you  are !"  cried  cook.  But  she  fetched  the 
soup,  and  Bryda  was  much  surprised  to  see 
that  it  was  a  cold  bright  jelly,  very  nice  to 
carry,  as  there  could  be  no  fear  of  spilling  it  on 
her  fresh  Sunday  frock.  So  off  she  started, 
and  walked  quickly  down  the  avenue  and  out 
into  the  pretty  village,  with  her  soup  and  her 
testament.  But  now  came  a  new  puzzle — 
Bryda  knew  none  of  the  people  in  the  village. 
To  which  house  should  she  go  ? 

Looking  round,  she  saw  that  one  of  the 
houses  looked  much  poorer  than  the  others. 
The  little  garden  was  full  of  weeds,  the  porch 
shabby  and  broken,  with  creepers  that  sadly 
wanted  nailing,  hanging  loosely  from  the  wall, 
one  poor  rose  quite  bent  to  the  earth  with  heavy 
blossoms.  Everything  looked  neglected,  and 
Bryda  thought  the  people  must  be  very  poor 
indeed^  since  their  home  looked   so  wretched. 


48  MIXED   PICKLES. 

Timidly  walking  up  to  the  door,  for  her  courage 
began  to  fail  her  a  little,  she  tapped  gently. 

"  Open  the  door,  Betsy,"  said  a  gruff  voice 
inside ;  to  which  another  voice  answered,  grumb- 
ling : 

"  Can't  you  do  it  yourself,  you  stupid  old 
woman  ?" 

Then  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and  Bryda 
saw  a  rough-looking  girl  of  about  fifteen,  with 
a  very  dirty  face,  shock  head,  and  untidy,  torn 
dress,  whose  voice  was  as  rough  as  her  look, 
holding  the  door. 

"  Now,  then,  what  do  you  want  ?"  she  said, 
frowning  fiercely  at  her  trembling  visitor. 
"D'yer  want  to  know  the  way,  or  to  ax  a  glass 
of  water?  That's  all  folks  like  you  ever 
troubles  folks  like  us  for,  'cept  when  we're  ill, 
and  then  yer  brings  us  tracks :"  by  which  she 
probably  meant  tracts. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  poor  Bryda,  "  I  thought 
some  one  might  be  ill  here,  and  so  I  brought 
some  soup." 

"  Come  in,  my  dear,  come  in,"  said  the  old 
woman  from  her  corner^  and  began  coughing 


MIXED   PICKLES^  49 

and  wheezing  very  loudly,  groaning  so  dread- 
fully between  her  attacks  that  Bryda  was  more 
frightened  than  ever,  and  thought  she  was 
going  to  die.  Perhaps  some,  soup  would  do  her 
good;  so  she  timidly  entered  the  cottage,  the 
girl  immediately  shutting  the  door  behind  her, 
set  down  her  little  basket,  and  began  to  open  it. 

"  That's  a  nice  bit  o'  chain  round  yer  neck," 
said  the  rude  girl,  coming  behind  her.  "  I 
wonder  if  it  wouldn't  look  better  on  me."  So 
saying,  she  quickly  unclasped  the  pretty  silver 
chain  that  hung  round  her  visitor's  neck,  and 
put  it  on  her  own,  before  Bryda  had  time  to 
object. 

The  old  woman  had,  meantime,  stopped 
coughing ;  she  got  up  quickly  and  seized  the  jug 
of  clear  soup-jelly,  and  began  poking  her 
shriveled  old  fingers  in,  and  so  eating  it.  But 
the  girl,  seeing  this,  caught  the  hand  that  held 
the  jug,  while  the  old  woman  was  eating  and 
muttering  all  the  time. 

"  Soup  for  the  sick !  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  ill ! 
Bring  me  some  soup,  my  dear ;  bring  me  plenty 
of  soup  " 


50  MIXED  PICKLES. 

The  rough  girl  caught  the  jug  and  tried  to 
put  her  own  fingers  in,  on  which  a  struggle  fol- 
lowed ;  the  pitcher  fell  to  the  floor  and  broke, 
while  the  jelly  was  scattered  everywhere ;  and 
poor  Bryda,  frightened  almost  out  of  her  wits, 
left  the  two  dreadful  women  to  fight,  opened 
the  door,  and  ran  as  if  they  were  after  her. 
leaving  locket  and  chain,  and  her  basket,  and 
feeling  as  if  she  were  fortunate  in  escaping  at 
all. 

Eushing  blindly  on,  she  hardly  knew  where, 
only  feeling  that  she  must  run,  her  foot  caught 
in  the  root  of  a  tree,  and  she  fell  violently  to 
the  ground,  striking  her  head  against  the  trunk. 
Stupid  as  she  felt,  in  a  moment  she  was  trying 
to  struggle  up,  when  a  hand  was  laid  on  her 
shoulder ;  and,  thinking  it  must  be  the  dreadful 
girl  who  had  so  frightened  her,  the  poor  girl 
screamed  aloud. 

"  Hush,  hush !  don't  scream  that  way !''  said 
a  kind,  soothing  voice ;  an  arm  gently  raised  her, 
and  Bryda,  looking  up,  saw  an  old  man,  with 
cheeks  like  a  winter-apple,  white  hair,  and  a 
pair  of  the  kindest,  friendliest  old  eyes  that  ever 


MIXED   PICKLES.  51 

looked  through  spectacles,  standing  beside 
her. 

'^  Come  into  ray  cottage  here,  and  rest  a  little." 

Bryda  looked  round  her,  feeling  that  for  this 
time  she  had  had  enough  of  the  inside  of 
cottages. 

"Do  now,"  went  on  the  old  man.  "Don't  be 
afeard,  missy !  Thy  grandfather  and  old  Roger 
were  young  together;  ah!  and  good  friends 
they  were,  too,  for  all  I  could  beat  him  at 
wrestling;  he  never  took  it  amiss,  did  Master 
George  —  that's  your  grandad,  little  missy. 
Come  in  now,  and  welcome."  Bryda  gained  a 
little  courage  at  this  speech,  and  followed  the 
old  man  into  his  cottage,  close  to  which  she  had 
fallen. 

As  she  went  she  could  see  the  rude  girl 
looking  out  of  her  house  and  making  ugly  faces. 

''  Which  she  need  not  have  done,"  said  Bryda 
afterward ;  "  she  was  hideous  already !" 


b^  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OLD    ROGER. 

Directly  Bryda  was  inside  the  old  man's 
cottage  she  was  able  to  collect  her  scattered 
wits,  and  look  round  at  her  kind  friend  and  at 
his  dwelling. 

The  little  room  into  which  she  had  come 
served  as  the  old  man's  sitting-room  and  kitchen 
both;  the  door  into' what  would  naturally  have 
been  his  little  parlor  was  open,  and  she  could 
see  tools  hanging  up  on  neat  wooden  racks, 
half-finished  chairs  and  boxes  lying  about, 
and  in  the  center  of  the  room  a  carpenter's 
bench  and  turning-lathe.  The  carpenter  himself 
wore  a  very  old-fashioned  dress,  long  blue  knitted 
stockings,  strong  low  shoes  with  buckles,  a  scaii 
wound  round  and  round  his  throat,  so  that  two 
little  points  of  very  white  collar  came  just 
under  his  chin,  and  a  funny  old  brown  coat 
with  peculiar-looking  buttons. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  53 

He  drew  a  chair  for  Bryda  near  the  hearth 
on  which  burned  a  small  wood  fire,  and  above 
which  were  a  great  many  memorial  cards  in 
frames — wonderful  works  of  art,  with  veiy 
black  backgrounds  and  very  white  tombs,  over 
which  leaned  in  exhausted  attitudes  drooping 
female  figures,  supposed  to  be  lamenting  the 
departed  in  the  tombs,  while  usually  a  large 
weeping  willow  languished  in  one  corner  of  the 
picture. 

The  carpenter  himself  sat  down,  where  he 
had  evidently  been  sitting  before,  at  a  small 
table,  on  which  was  a  very  large  Bible  with 
pictures  in  it. 

As  he  did  so  his  eyes  rested  on  the  opposite 
wall,  on  which  was  a  quaint  old  woodcut, 
representing  the  Christ  in  Joseph's  workshop 
at  Nazareth,  with  a  glory  round  His  heady 
busily  making  a  table.  Bryda  saw,  it  too,  and 
could  not  help  noticing  the  look  of  pleasure 
that  came  into  the  old  man's  face,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  seen  a  very  dear  friend. 

"  You're  a  carpenter,  Mr.  Roger  ?"  said  Bryda, 
trying  not  to  feel  shy. 


54  MIXED  PICKLES. 

'^Ay,  ay,"  answered  the  old  man,  turning  his 
spectacled  eyes  slowly  from  the  picture  to  her 
face.  **  I  make  chairs  and  tables,  and  all  else 
that  I've  strength  for,  just  as  He  did,"  pointing 
to  the  picture.  "  He  made  them  for  over 
twenty  years,  but  I've  made  them  now  for  twice 
that,  and  more.  Nigh  on  to  seventy  years  I've 
(lone  the  same  work  as  He  did ;  and  whenever 
I  do  a  real  neat  job,  missy,  I  say  to  myself, 
"That's  right,  Roger;  do  'em  better  and  better 
still,  and  some  day  you'll  do  one  that  He 
needn't  a-been  ashamed  of."  ' 

"Do  you  think  the  Lord  made  the  best  chairs 
and  tables  ?"  asked  Bryda,  wondering.  She 
had  been  so  much  more  used  to  think  of  our 
Redeemer  as  He  taught,  and  worked  miracles, 
and  went  about  doing  good,  than  as  the  carpen- 
ter who  worked  quietly  in  a  little  out-of-the- 
way  village. 

"  I  dunno  about  the  best,  missy ;  maybe 
He  never  had  the  best  teachin' ;  leastways,  not 
to  make  grand  folks'  furniture.  But  I  know 
every  nail  He  drove  was  put  in  true  and  straight, 
and  never  a  bit  of  bad  wood  used,  or  a  place 


MIXED  PICKLES.  55 

people  wouldn't  see  left  unfinished.  All  the 
work  He  did  was  the  best  He  knew  to  do — 
that  I  know  right  well,  missy." 

Bryda  sighed.  She  had  come  out  to  try  and 
do  some  of  the  Lord's  own  work — to  help  the 
poor.  And  she  had  failed  so  horribly,  with 
the  best  intentions !  The  old  carpenter  heard 
her  sigh. 

*^  Tell  old  Roger  how  you  got  into  trouble, 
missy,"  he  said ;  "  and  maybe  a  cup  of  tea 
would  freshen  you  after  all's  done." 

It  was  only  half -past  three,  but  the  old  man 
got  up  and  bustled  about,  laying  tea  on  the 
clean  deal  table,  with  a  cloth  still  cleaner,  for 
Bryda  and  himself,  a  big  loaf,  and  a  little  bit  of 
country  butter.  Then  he  put  the  kettle  on  to 
boil,  and  sat  down  opposite  Bryda  to  watch  it, 
while  she  told  all  the  story  of  her  adventure  to 
her  new  friend,  beginning  with  the  scrape  of 
yesterday,  and  Cousin  Salome's  story,  and  ending 
by  saying  sadly  that  it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
no  use  for  her  in  the  world. 

^'  Don't  fret,  my  dear ;  don't  fret,"  said  the 
kind  old  man ;   "  the  Lord  has  a  use  for  every- 


56  MIXED   PICKLES. 

thing  and  everybody,  if  they'll  ask  Ilim  to  show 
the  way.  Why,  the  dear  Lord  had  need  of  a 
donkey  once,  and  He  sent  to  ask  for  it.  Didst 
ask  Him  what  to  do,  little  miss,  before  thou 
went  V 

Bryda  hung  her  head.  That  she  had  not  done. 

"  That's  where  the  fault  was,"  said  Roger 
thoughtfully.  "  What  dost  think  'ud  happen 
if  I  tried  to  do  squire's  work,  or  parson's  ? 
They  wouldn't  thrive  with  me,  for  sure." 

At  this  moment  the  cottage  door  opened, 
and  the  object  of  Bryda's  terror,  the  shock- 
headed  girl,  entered.  In  one  hand  slie  held 
Bryda's  locket  and  chain,  in  the  other  her 
basket,  both  of  which  she  thumped  down  upon 
the  table,  so  that  all  the  tea-tliings  raftled, 
merely  saying,  "There,  take  yer  things,  and 
don't  come  near  us  no  more !"  She  bounced 
out  again,  and  banged  the  d(^or  belli nd  her. 


"  So  it  was  Moll  Dawson  as   f rcvkcned   y 


J" 


said  Roger,  when  she  was  gone;  ^^^lic's  a  ical 
bad  'un,  that  girl.  I'm  thinking  she's  one  of 
those  lambs  that  run  further  off  because  they 
hear  the  Shepherd  calling." 


MIXED  PICKLES.  57 

^'  I  shall  never  dare  to  go  near  her  hoiiso 
again,"  said  Bryda  ;  "but  I  am  glad  she  did  not 
steal  my  locket  and  chain.  And  I  wish  I  could 
help  somebody  who  is  sick  or  very  poor,"  she 
added,  returning  to  her  first  idea. 

The  old  carpenter  leaned  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  looked  at  Bryda  very  earnestly. 

*^  When  I  were  a  young  'un,"  he  said,  "  and 
lived  in  a  part  of  the  country  far  away  from 
here,  there  was  a  cold,  clear  spring  as  bubbled 
up  by  the  roadside,  with  the  best  water  in  all 
the  country  round,  that  never  dried  up.  And 
they  called  it  '  The  Child's  Well,'  and  told  a 
pretty  story  about  it." 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  !"  said  Bryda  eagerly,  roused 
at  once  by  the  idea  of  a  story,  like  a  dog  at  the 
scent  of  game. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  they  say 
that  once,  long  years  ago,  there  was  a  little 
lassie  troubled  in  mind  like  you,  missy,  and 
wanting  to  do  a  bit  o'  work  for  the  dear  Lord. 
So  every  day,  when  she  left  her  little  white 
bed,  she  knelt  down  and  prayed  summat  like 
this  :    ^  Dear  Lord,'  says  she,  ^  give  me  a  little 


68 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


bit  of  Thy  great  work  to  do.'  And  all  day 
long  she  was  kind  and  gentle,  and  always  doin' 
a  hand's  turn  for  some  one,  if  it  was  only 
mindin'  a  babby  while  the  mother  went  out. 

"  But  she  didn't  understand,  ye  see,  missy, 
that   such  bits   o'  things  could  belong  to  the 


Lord's  work.  Till  one  day,  as  the  story  goes, 
when  it  was  a  holiday,  all  the  chicks  went  out, 
and  were  going  some  way  oif  to  play.  Just  as 
they  got  a  little  way  out  of  the  village,  on  the 
dusty,  hot  road,  they  met  an  old  man.  very  foot- 
sore, and  old  and  tired-lookin'.  So  he  says, 
'  For  dear  pity's  sake,  little  'uns,  give  me  a  little 
water.'     But  the  well  was  some  way  back,  and 


And  where  the  water  fell  this  spring  rose  up.— Page  59. 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


69 


the  childer  in  a  hiirry  to  go  and  play,  so  they 
one  and  all  told  him  to  go  on  furder,  and  he'd 
find  what  he  wanted.  All  but  this  little  maid : 
she  stayed  looking  wistfully  at  the  old  man, 
though  the  others  called  to  her  to  come  on. 
'  Sit  down,'  she  says,  ^  till  I  fetch  you  some 
water,'  and  off  she  runs  back 
to  the  village,  fills  a  cup,  and 
brings  it  back  steady,  not  spillin' 
a  drop.  But  when  she  came 
where  she  left  the  old   man  sit- 


ting, there  was  a  beautiful  figure,  all  in  a 
white  dress  with  gold  about  it,  and  such  a  face 
as  she  had  never  seen  before.  And  He  took 
the  cup  and  put  it  to  His  lips,  and  then  with 
a  voice  like  the  sound  of  many  waters — so  she 
told  the  people  after  —  He  told  her,  ^  Even 
a  cup  of  cold  water,  given  to  the  very  least, 
shall  have  its  reward.'  And  He  poured  out 
the   rest   of   the  water,  and  where  it  fell  this 


60  MIXED  PICKLES. 

spring  rose  up.  And  while  the  little  maid 
looked  at  it,  all  on  a  sudden  He  was  gone." 

"  Was  it  an  angel  that  she  saw  ?"  asked 
Bryda,  in  an  awe-struck  tone. 

"  Some  say  it  was  an  angel,  some  say  it  was 
the  dear  Lord  Himself,"  said  the  old  carpenter, 
bowing  his  head  reverently.  ^'But  I  don't 
rightly  know,  missy ;  I  don't  rightly  know." 

Here  the  kettle  made  a  distraction  by  boiling 
over,  and  old  Roger  took  it  off  and  made  tea. 

Then  his  little  visitor,  who  had  now  quite 
recovered  her  spirits,  suggested  that  it  would 
be  "awfully  nice"  if  they  had  some  buttered 
toast,  and  in  two  minutes  he  and  Bryda  were  on 
two  stools  by  the  fire,  each  with  slice  of  bread 
at  the  end  of  a  fork,  the  old  man  and  little  girl 
as  happy  as  it  was  possible  to  be. 

They  were  just  going  to  turn  their  pieces  and 
toast  the  other  sides,  when  suddenly  the  door 
opened,  and  Byrda's  nurse  entered  like  a  ^vhirl• 
wind,  and  stood  horror-struck  on  the  threshold. 

"Oh,  Miss  Bryda,  you  naughty,  naughty 
girl !  Whatever  do  you  think  your  poor  dear 
mother  would  say,  seeing  you  sitting  there,  for 


MIXED  PICKLES.  61 

all  the  world  like  a  vulgar  child,  and  every  one 
up  at  the  house  running  about  distracted,  be- 
cause you're  lost  ?     Come  away  this  minute  !" 

Bryda  had  nothing  to  say  for  herself.  She 
meant  to  do  good ;  but  it  was  very  naughty  to 
slip  away  "  unbeknown,"  as  nurse  would  say, 
and  frighten  every  one. 

The  old  carpenter  had  tea  alone  after  all,  and 
Bryda  went  sorrowfully  home  with  her  scolding 
nurse. 


6^  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


UNCLE   jack's    story. 


Uncle  Jack  came  home  next  day.  and 
Bryda's  spirit  rose  from  freezing  to  a  very  bigli 
point  indeed  when  she  saw  him  come  into  the 
garden,  where  she  was  sitting  rather  sadly,  with 
knitted  brows,  very  busily  thinking,  and  staring 
hard  at  nothing.  She  was  trying  to  think  how 
it  was  that  she  could  not  manage  to  be  of  more 
use;  and  that  is  a  very  deep  subject  to  think 
about  when  you  are  only  nine  years  old. 

"  Though,  after  all,"  said  Bryda  to  herself, 
"  lessons  may  do  me  some  good.  "When  things 
are  disagreeable,  like  doses  and  lessons,  people 
say  they  are  for  your  good  ;  but  I  don't  see 
how  they  can  do  any  one  else  good." 

Just  as  she  was  thinking  this,  a  merry 
whistled  tune  came  through  the  trees.  Nobody 
could  whistle  like  Uncle  Jack. 

"  What's   the    matter,    maiden   all   forloi-n  ?" 


MIXED  PICKLES.  63 

asked  his  cheery  voice.  "  Here  comes  the  man 
all  tattered  and  torn  to  rouse  you  up  !" 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jack !"  said  Bryda  sorrowfully, 
"  I  am  of  no  use." 

"  No  use !  who  cares  about  that  ?  Perhaps 
you  were  made  for  ornament,  like  the  roses,  aad 
butterflies,  and  nice  little  singing-birds." 

"  Ornament's  no  use,"  went  on  Bryda,  sadly 
still. 

"Isn't  it  J  If  the  world  had  no  birds,  and 
no  flowers,  and  no  butterflies,  and  no  children, 
only  hard-working  men  and  women  and  cart- 
horses, what  sort  of  place  would  it  be  ?" 

"  Very  dull,"  said  Bryda  quickly. 

"  So  I  should  think.  And  supposing  the 
birds  were  all  harnessed  to  carts,  and  the  flow- 
ers mown  down  for  hay,  and  the  children  set 
to  work  in  offices  all  day  long,  would  that  be 
nice  ?" 

Bryda  laughed.     "  No,  indeed.  Uncle  Jack." 

"  Well,  then,  Bryda's  work  is  to  look  merry, 
and  good-tempered,  and  happy,  as  if  she  was  a 
tame  sunbeam  that  the  grannies  kept  to  amuse 
them."     Bryda  laughed  still  more. 


64  MIXED  PICKLES. 

"  Uncle  Jack  do  you  know  you  are  horribly 
nice  ?"  she  said,  dragging  him  down  to  a  seat. 

"  Horribly  nice  ?  What  sort  of  niceness  is 
that  ?  Like  laspberry  jam,  or  pet  kittens,  or 
troublesome  children  ?"  All  these  are  nice,  and 
horrible  too.  Jam  is  horrible  when  it  makes 
you  ill,  kittens  when  they  scratch,  children 
when  they  behave  badly." 

"  1  wish  I  could  grow  up  all  at  once,"  said 
Byrda,  with  a  sigh  ;  "  and  then  I  should  never 
get  into  scrapes  again,  and  have  grandmother 
calling  me  Bridget." 

This  was  Bryda's  idea  of  the  worst  thing 
that  could  be  said  to  her;  when  she  was 
naughty  her  own  mother,  and  the  grannies  too, 
called  her  Biidget,  instead  of  using  her  pet 
name. 

"  Would  you  like  all  other  children  to  grow 
up  too,  and  have  only  meL  and  women  in  the 
world  ?  Oh,  poor  Bryda  !  how  dull  you  would 
be !  Supposing  I  were  to  tell  you  a  story 
about  a  country  where  something  of  the  soii; 
happened  ?" 

"  Please,    please    do !"  cried     Bryda ;  "  only 


MIXED  PICKLESo  65 

please,  Uncle  Jack,  don't  let  it  have  a  moral. 
Miss  Quillnib  used  to  tell  rae  stories  when  it 
was  too  wet  to  go  out  after  lessons,  and  there 
was  always  a  moral — something  about  me,  you 
know.  And  that  spoiled  the  story,  just  the 
way  powders  spoil  raspberry  jam." 

Uncle  Jack  laughed  at  his  little  niece's 
fancies,  then  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the 
garden  seat,  lit  his  pipe,  and  went  on  talking 
between  the  puffs,  telling  his  promised  stoiy. 

UNCLE   jack's    STOEY. 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  began  Uncle  Jack, 
"  since  we  know  no  fairy  stories  are  worth  hear- 
ing unless  they  begin  with  *  once  upon  a  time.' 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  country  ruled 
over  by  a  king  and  queen  who  had  no  children. 
Having  no  children  of  their  own,  these  sov- 
ereigns thought  other  people's  children  a 
nuisance.  I  am  afraid  they  were  like  the  fox, 
who  said  the  grapes  were  sour  because  he  could 
not  reach  them,  for  it  was  well  known  that  they 
wanted  some  of  these  *  torments'  very  badly 
themselves." 


66  MIXED  PICKLES. 

*'  Don't  call  us  torments,  Uncle  Jack,"  intei 
rupted  his  little  niece. 

"Well,  you  see,  madam,  historians  must  be 
truthful.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  king  and 
queen  passed  a  law  in  which  the  children  were 
described  as  ^  pickles,  torments,  plagues,  bothers, 
nuisances,  womes,'  and  by  twenty-four  other 
titles  of  respect  which  I  have  forgotten.  This 
law  enacted : 

"First — That  the  children  were  to  be  seen 
and  not  heard.  .Wherefore  all  children  under 
the  age  of  sixteen  were  to  speak  in  a  whisper 
and  laugh  in  a  whisper." 

"  They  couldn't,  Uncle  Jack,"  broke  in  Bryda, 
^  they  could  only  smile !" 

"  Or  grin,"  said  Uncle  Jack.  "  So  you  think 
that  a  cruel  law,  Bryda  ? 

"  Secondly — As  the  sight  of  a  child  set  the 
royal  teeth  on  edge,  no  child  was  to  be  allowed 
to  set  foot  out  of  doors,  unless  between  the 
hours  of  twelve  and  one  on  any  night  when 
there  was  neither  moon  nor  stars." 

"  At  that  rate  they  would  iiever  go  out,"  said 
Bryda. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  6t 

"  Well,  you  see  this  was  a  law  for  the  aboli- 
tion of  children ;  so  they  were  to  be  suppressed 
as  much  as  possible,  of  course. 

"Then,  thirdly^  the  law  declared — That,  as 
little  pitchers  have  long  ears,  no  child  should 
ever  hear  the  conversation  of  grown-up  people. 
Therefore  children  were  never  to  be  admitted 
into  any  sitting-room  used  by  the  elders  of  the 
family,  nor  into  any  kitchen  or  room  occupied 
by  servants." 

"  0-o-oh !"  said  Bryda ;  "  did  they  keep  them 
in  the  coal-cellar  ?" 

"  In  some  houses,  perhaps." 

''Fourthly — Forasmuch  as  play  was  not  a 
profitable  occupation,  and  led  to  noise  and 
laughter,  all  play-time  and  holidays  should  at 
once  be  abolished." 

"That  was  a  very  bad  law,"  said  Bryda 
warmly. 

"  Well,  the  law  was  passed,  and  was  soon  car 
ried  out ;  and  any  one  coming  to  the  city  would 
have  thought  there  were  no  children,  so  care- 
fully were  they  kept  out  of  sight.  All  the 
toy  shops  were  closed,  and  confectioners  were 


68  MIXED  PICKLES. 

ordered,  under  pain  of  death,  neither  to  make 
nor  sell  goodies.  But  one  thing  the  king  had 
forgotten,  and  that  was  that,  after  all,  there  were 
more  children  than  grown  people  in  the  country. 
One  family  had  nine  children,  another  six,  and 
so  on;  so  that,  counting  the  boarding-schools, 
there  were  just  three  times  as  many  children  as 
grown  people  in  the  capital.  Well,  after  about 
a  week  of  this  treatment  (for  the  parents  were 
compelled  under  threat  of  instant  execution  to 
carry  it  out),  it  happened  that  there  came  a 
night  when  at  twelve  o'clock,  though  it  was  not 
raining,  there  was  neither  moon  nor  star  to  be 
seen.  So  all  the  children  in  the  city  rushed 
forth  into  the  park  with  Chinese  lanterns  in 
their  hands,  making  quite  a  fairy  gathering 
under  the  trees.  Oh,  how  delicious  it  was ! 
They  ran  and  shouted,  and  played  games  and 
laughed,  till  suddenly  one  o'clock  struck;  and  all 
the  king's  horses,  and  all  the  king's  men,  came 
to  drive  them  to  their  homes  again.  But  there 
were  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  children,  and 
only  a  few  soldiers  with  wooden  swords;  for 
this  was  a  very  peaceable  nation^  and  arm^d 


MIXED  PICKLES.  69 

even  its  police  with  only  birch  rods.  So  one  of 
the  biggest  boys  blew  a  tin  trumpet,  and  called 
all  the  children  to  him. 

"  '  1  vote  we  rebel,'  he  said.  ^  We  will  not 
stand  this  any  more;  let  us  drive  away  all 
the  grown-ups,  and  have  the  town  altogether  to 
ourselves.' 

"  Now  it  so  happened  that  a  fairy  had  been 
watching  all  that  went  on  in  the  town,  and  was 
not  at  all  pleased.  So  when  she  heard  this  bold 
boy  speak  she  tho'ight  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
to  let  this  rebellion  be  carried  out.  '  Serve  'em 
right,'  she  said ;  ^  young  and  old  shall  all  learn 
a  lesson.' 

"  So  she  collected  a  few  thousand  fairies,  and 
they  flew  to  all  the  king's  men,  and  whispered 
in  their  left  ears  dreadful  things,  which  fright- 
ened them  terribly  and  made  them  believe  an 
immense  army,  instead  of  the  troops  of  children, 
was  coming  to  crush  them  all.  Then  the  fairies 
whispered  in  their  right  ears  that  it  would  be 
wise  to  fly  to  a  neighboring  mountain  where 
there  was  a  large  old  fort,  and  there  take  refuge. 
So  they  galloped  off  as  fast  as  the  king's  horses 


70  MIXED  PICKLES. 

would  carry  them.  Then  the  fairies  flew  all 
over  the  town  and  whispered  the  same  things  to 
all  the  grown-up  people — fathers  and  mothers, 
old  maids  and  old  bachelors — till  they,  too, 
tumbled  out  of  bed,  dressed  in  a  terrible  hurry, 
and  fled  to  the  mountain.  Even  the  king 
jumped  out  of  bed,  tied  up  his  crown  in  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  ran  for  his  life  in  his 
dressing-gown,  while  two  lords  in  waiting,  or 
gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber,  rushed  after  him 
with  the  royal  mantle  of  ermine,  and  the  scepter 
and  golden  ball.  The  lord  chancellor  filled  his 
pockets  with  new  sovereigns  from  the  mint  (for 
he  slept  there  to  look  after  the  money)  and  then 
he  too  ran,  but  rather  slowly,  for  he  had  the 
woolsack  on  liis  back,  and  it  was  pretty  heavy. 
When  they  asked  him  why  he  took  the  trouble 
he  answered  that  he  thought  the  ground  might 
be  damp,  and  he  already  had  a  cold  in  his  head. 
"  Well,  all  the  elders  being  gone,  the  children 
were  left  in  possession  of  the  city,  at  which  you 
may  well  suppose  they  were  greatly  astonished. 
They  went  on  with  their  games  for  awhile ;  but 
then  the  lanterns  began  to  go  out,  and  one  after 


MIXED  PICKLESo  71 

another  they  grew  very  sleepy.  So  the  boy 
with  the  tin  trumpet  blew  it  again,  and  com- 
manded that  every  one  should  now  go  to  bed, 
and  that  a  meeting  should  be  held  at  twelve 
o'clock  next  day  in  the  park,  at  which  every 
child  should  appear. 

*^  Appear  they  did,  in  their  Sunday  clothes, 
those  of  them  at  least  who  cared  for  finery ; 
there  were  no  mothers  or  nurses  to  object.  All 
were  in  great  delight  at  having  no  one  to  rule 
them. 

"  *  I  shall  never  go  to  bed  at  eight !'  said  one. 

"  ^  I  shall  never  eat  rice  pudding — horrid 
stuff!' 

"  *  I  shall  never  take  any  more  doses  !' 

"  ^  I  shall  never  do  any  more  lessons  !' 

"'Nor  I!  nor  I!  nor  I!'  shouted  one  after 
another ;  '  we  shall  all  do  only  what  we  like  ! 
How  happy  we  shall  be  !' 

"  Only  one  little  maid  whispered,  with  a  tear 
trembling  on  the  long  lashes  of  her  blue  eyes, 
'  Dottie  wants  mother !'  But  Dottie  was  soon 
comforted,  and  ran  about  as  merrily  as  ever. 

"  Meantime  the  elder  boys  and  girls  held  a 


n 


MIXED   PICKLES. 


very  noisy  Parliament,  in  whicli  there  were 
never  less  than  five  speaking  at  once.  After  a 
great  deal  of  chatter  they  determined  to  set  up 
a  queen  ;  and  a  very  pretty  little  girl  called 
May  was  chosen,  and  crowned  with  a  ciown  of 
flowei's. 

*'  Next,  Queen  May  and  her  council  of  six, 


three  boys  and  three  girls,  ordered  that  a  big 
bonfire  should  be  made  of  all  lesson-books  and 
pinafores,  for  they  thought  pinafores  were  signs 
of  an  inferior  state,  of  being  under  command, 
as  servants  sometimes  think  their  caps  are. 

^'  The  next  law  was  that  all  the  raspberry 
jam  in  the  city  should  be  set  aside  for  the  use 
of  the  queen  and  her  court,  and  for  those  who 


MIXED  PICKLES.  73 

were  invited  to  the  royal  tea  parties.  There 
was  a  little  grumbling  about  this,  but  finally 
the  grumblers  gave  in.  All  this  time  troops  of 
children  came  pouring  in  from  the  neighboring 
villages  with  pinafores  on  the  end  of  broom 
sticks  as  flags  of  rebellion.  Being  pretty 
hungry,  they  dispersed  for  dinner,  which  in  most 
of  the  houses  was  a  very  curious  meal,  as,  of 
course,  no  one  could  cook,  so  they  had  to  forage 
in  the  kitchens  and  storerooms,  while  bands  of 
hungry  young  folks  stormed  the  confectioners' 
shops,  and  dined  off  ices  and  wedding-cake. 

"Then  they  opened  the  toy-shops  and  put 
them  in  charge  of  parties  of  children  and  gradu- 
ally the  other  shops  were  treated  in  the  same 
way,  for  buying  and  selling  is  always  a  game 
children  like,  and  it  was  such  a  treat  to  have  real 
things  to  sell.  Only  money  was  such  a  trouble  : 
they  were  always  forgetting  to  bring  any,  and 
the  young  shopkeepers  never  were  sure  if  a 
shilling  or  a  sovereign  was  the  right  price  for  a 
thing.  Therefore  they  concluded  to  do  without 
it ;  and  costly  things  were  bought  for  kisses, 
while  cheap  ones  were  to  be  had  for  saying,  ^  If 


74  MIXED  PICKLES. 

you  please,'  or,  if  they  were  very  small,  as  a 
penny  bun,  for  instance,  then  ^  please '  was 
enough." 

*'  How  nice  !"  said  Bryda. 

"Well,  for  a  whole  week  there  never  was 
such  happiness  as  the  children  enjoyed.  Games 
from  morning  to  night,  bread  and  jam  three 
times  a  day,  no  lessons,  no  forbidden  things, 
and  a  queen  of  their  own  age  in  place  of  the 
tyrant  king. 

"  But  when  a  week  was  over  some  little  mur- 
murs began  to  arise.  Every  morning,  I  ought 
to  say,  the  queen  sat  on  her  throne  in  the  royal 
palace,  to  receive  any  of  her  subjects  who  liked 
playing  at  being  courtiers,  and  she  and  her 
council  then  settled  any  difficulty  that  arose 
about  rules  of  games,  about  the  way  to  make 
the  best  toffee  and  any  other  important  ques- 
tion. 

"On  this  particular  morning,  then,  rather 
more  than  a  week  after  the  establishment  of  the 
Children's  Kingdom,  a  very  large  throng  entered 
the  queen's  presence.  Foremost  came  a  troop 
of  boys   and  girls,  who  led  in  a  pale,  serious- 


MIXED  PICKLES.  75 

looking  hoy  as  a  prisoner,  and  brought  him  to 
Queen  May's  feet. 

u  i  What  is  the  charge  against  this  prisoner  V 
asked  the  queen,  with  dignity.  *  Don't  all 
speak  at  once,' she  added,  so  hastily  that  several 
courtiers  giggled. 

*'  *  Please  your  majesty,'  said  a  boy,  stepping 
forward,  '  we  caught  him  in  the  act — the  very 
act — of  learning  lessons  !' 

"^Lessons!'  cried  the  whole  court,  in  every 
tone  of  disgust,  anger,  grief  and  dismay. 

"  ^  Lessons  !'  screamed  the  queen,  and  at  once 
fainted  away." 

"She  didn't!"  said  Bryda  iniiirnantly. 

"Don't  you  think  the  shock  was  great 
enough  ?"  asked  Uncle  Jack.  "  Besides,  she 
felt  it  part  of  her  royal  duty,  perhaps. 

"  Anyhow,  they  tickled  her  with  feathers, 
and  put  burned  cork  to  her  nose  till  she  had  a 
black  mustache ;  and  one  boy  brought  a  red-hot 
poker,  which  he  said  he  had  heard  was  a  good 
thing,  though  he  did  not  quite  know  how  it  was 
applied. 

"It  was  the  best  remedy,  certainly,  for  on  its 


76  MIXED   PICKLES. 

appearance  the  queen  jumped  up  shrieking,  and 
declared  she  was  perfectly  vvelh 

^'Theu  the  queen  proceeded  to  try  the 
prisonei',  and  requested  the  whole  court  to  act 
as  jury.  It  was  a  very  sad  case  of  youthful 
depravity — the  criminal  had  carefully  kept  this 
one  book,  '  Somebody's  Arithmetic,'  or  ^  Hang- 
nail's Questions,'  to  gloat  over  in  secret ;  and 
even  now  was  not  at  all  penitent,  but  declared, 
when  asked  what  he  had  to  say  for  liimself,  that 
it  was  '  stupid,  and  a  bore,'  to  play  games  all 
day  long,  and  he  was  sick  of  them. 

"  The  jury  could  not  agree  as  to  what  was  to 
be  done  with  such  an  offender,  and  so  he  was 
allowed  to  go,  and  bidden  'not  to  do  it  again,' 
and  the  queen  went  on  to  the  next  difficulty. 
Here  the  throne-room  became  quite  full  of 
children,  all  in  great  perplexity  ;  for  the  matter 
was  this,  that  the  food  supply  was  running 
short.  The  confectioners'  sliops  were  nearly 
empty  ;  there  was  plenty  of  jam,  but  very  little 
bread ;  and  one  or  two  boys,  who  had  break- 
fasted on  jam  out  of  a  pot,  eaten  willi  a  spoon, 
said, '  They  didn't  know  how  it  could  be,  but 


MIXED   PICKLES.  'J'^ 

somehow  they  thought  it  did  not  quite  agree 
with  them.' 

"This  was  really  very  serious.  Could  no  one 
cook? 

"  Well,  several  had  tried  to  make  puddings ; 
but  somehow,  though  they  ought  to  have  been 
quite  right,  sometliing  was  wr(mg,  and  no  one 
would  eat  them.  One  girl  had  bravely  made 
some  apple-dumplings,  and  baked  them  quite 
brown ;  but  then  she  could  not  find  out  how  to 
get  the  apple  in,  so  they  were  no  more  than 
hard  balls,  and  not  real  apple-dumplings  at  all. 

"'What  are  we  going  to  do?'  said  Queen 
May  sorrowfully. 

"A  dead  silence  reigned. 

"'I  know  !'  said  a  boy  called  Eric,  starting 
forward  suddenly,  and  all  eyes  turned  to  this 
ow^ier  of  a  bright  idea.  'I  know!'  he  said, 
brandishing  a  many-bladed  knife ;  '  I'll  kill  a 
pig !' 

"  A  murmur  of  horror  arose  from  the  girls. 

'  "  Oh,  no !'  said  Queen  May  politely ;  '  my 
faithful  subject,  we  will  not  let  you  make  your- 
self so  miserable." 


78  MIXED  PICKLES. 

"^Oh,  7  don't  mind!'  cried  Eric;  'really, 
you  know,  I  should  lihe  it !' 

I'll  hold  him  for  you  !'  cried  several  bo}'s 
at  once. 

"  ^  Quite  as  if  they  liked  it,'  whispered  the 
girls. 

"But  Queen  May  interposed,  and  said  the 
court  should  break  up  and  go  to  blind-man's- 
buff.  At  the  same  hour  next  day  any  one  who 
had  a  bright  idea  should  come  and  tell  it.  For 
the  rest  of  the  day  she,  at  least,  did  not  mean 
to  bother  her  head.  If  a  pig  were  killed,  it 
would  have  to  be  cooked.  And  shaking  her 
curls,  which  were  like  a  crown  of  gold,  Queen 
May  jumped  off  her  throne  and  ran  out  into 
the  park. 

"  Presently  the  Fairy  Set-'em-right  came  fly- 
ing over  the  town,  and  saw  all  the  child I'en 
running  about  and  shrieking  with  laughter. 

" '  Bless  my  broomstick  !'  she  said,  for  she 
had  borrowed  one  from  a  witch  to  fly  upon, 
saying  she  had  rheumatism  in  her  left  wing. 
'  Bless  my  broomstick  !  this  won't  do  at  all !' 

"  She  did  iiot  notice  that  a  great  many  chil- 


The  fairy  came  flying  over  the  town.— Page  78. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  79 

dren  were  standing  about  in  groups,  whisper- 
ing— what  they  dared  not  say  aloud — that  they 
were  getting  tired  of  games  all  day,  and  of 
nothing  to  eat  but  sweet  cakes  and  jam  at 
meals. 

"  ^  I  should  really,  really  and  truly,  like  some 
boiled  mutton,'  said  Master  Archie,  who  was 
known  to  have  had  a  special  dislike  to  that 
dish. 

"^I  know  what  I  shall  do,'  said  the  fairy; 
^' I  shall  make  these  children  feel  like  grow^n- 
ups,  and  then  I  shall  fly  off  to  the  mountain, 
and  make  the  grown-ups  feel  like  children  : 
and  if  that  doesn't  bring  them  to  their  senses, 
I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  will.'" 

At  this  exciting  point  a  servant  came  to 
tell  Uncle  Jack  that  grandfather  wanted  him, 
and  he  went  oif  whistling,  promising  Bryda  the 
rest  of  the  story  "next  time." 

But  as  she  did  not  know  when  "  next  time" 
w^ould  be,  it  was  rather  provoking. 


80  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BEPPO. 

Bryda  sat  still  where  Uncle  Jack  had  left 
her,  thinking  over  his  story. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  she  said  to  herself  (Bryda 
had  a  funny  way  of  calling  herself  *^  my  dear" 
when  she  talked  to  herself,  and  told  herself 
stories,  or  read  herself  little  moral  lectures  as 
Miss  Quillnib  her  governess  used  to  do); 
*'You  see,  my  dear,  the  thing  is  this:  when 
any  one  tells  a  story  they  can  make  things 
happen  so  that  there  shall  always  be  a  good 
moral.  Now,  I  am  sure  that  town  in  the  story 
would  be  a  veiy  nice  place,  but  Uncle  Jack  is 
sure  to  make  everything  go  wrong !" 

Here  nurse  came  and  carried  Miss  Bryda  off 
for  a  walk.  They  went  through  the  village, 
and  old  Roger  was  at  his  work.  The  house- 
door  was  open,  and  he  nodded  a  pleasant 
"  Good-day." 


MIXED  PICKLES.  81 

Bryda  lingered  a  moment. 

"  Isn't  this  a  nice  day,  Roger  V  she  said. 

"Ay,  ay,  little  miss,"  answered  the  carpenter, 
"it's  one  of  the  Lord's  own  days.  He  doesn't 
give  us  too  many  of  them,  for  fear  we'd  get  too 
fond  o'  this  place,  and  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  go 
to  our  Father's  house." 

Nurse  had  stopped  to  talk  to  the  blacksmith. 
It  was  funny,  but  she  always  had  something 
special  to  tell  the  blacksmith;  and  he  would 
keep  a  horse  waiting  ever  so  long  to  be  shod 
while  they  talked,  though  really  they  never 
seemed  to  say  anything  very  interesting. 

However,  Bryda  knew  she  would  have  some 
time  to  herself,  so  she  walked  into  old  Roger's 
cottage,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  among  the 
sawdust  and  shavings. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  very  poor,  aren't  you, 
Roger  ?"  she  asked,  after  watching  him  silently 
for  some  time. 

"  Poor,  missy  ?  Well,  maybe  some  folks  'ud 
think  so,  but  there's  no  man  in  the  village 
richer,  for  all  that !" 

"  Then  why  don't  you  have  a  grander  house  ?'' 


82  MIXED  PICKLES. 

"  I'll  go  to  my  grand  house  by  aud  byj 
missy/'  he  answered,  driving  a  screw  carefully. 
"  Ah !  a  grand  house  that  is  indeed !  It's 
making  ready  for  me  all  this  time ;  but  when 
once  I  go,  I'll  not  come  back  here  again  !" 

"  I  should  think  not !"  answered  Bryda,  look- 
ing round  the  poor  cottage.  "Is  it  a  palace, 
Roger?"  Bryda's  idea  of  a  palace  was  some- 
thing very  splendid — golden  tables,  and  silver 
chairs,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  furniture  to 
match. 

"  Ay,  you  may  well  call  it  a  palace  !  There's 
no  house  hereabouts  would  match  that  one," 
answered  Roger,  in  his  cheery  voice. 

"  Does  any  one  else  live  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  All  my  brothers  and  sisters — the 
children  of  the  King." 

"Miss  Bryda!  Miss  Bryda!  You  trouble- 
some child  !"  called  the  nurse's  voice.  '*  Come 
along,  this  minute  !  wherever  have  you  got  to 
— poking  in  them  low  places  ?" 

"Nurse  did  not  think  the  forge  a  low  place," 
thought  Bryda,  but  she  was  obliged  to  go. 

"  Nurae,"  she  said,  when  that  worthy  person 


MIXED   PICKLES.  83 

had  done  scolding,  "do  you  know,  I  am  sure  I 
may  go  and  see  that  old  carpenter,  for  he  is  not 
a  common  man  at  all,  but  a  prince  in  disguise 
Only  fancy  !     Just  like  a  fairy  tale  !" 

"Fairy  grandmother!"  said  nurse,  who  was 
not  in  the  best  of  tempers;  and  they  went  on 
tor  some  way  in  silence  through  the  village. 

A  little  outside  the  village  stood  a  neat  white 
house,  in  which  the  doctor  lived,  and  in  front  of 
this  a  woman  in  an  Italian  dress  was  turning 
the  handle  of  a  barrel-organ,  while  a  handsome 
boy  of  five  or  six,  or  perhaps  older — for  though 
small,  he  had  an  old  look  in  his  face — stood 
holding  a  little  tin  mug  to  collect  pennies. 
There  were  no  pennies  in  it ;  the  woman  looked 
dreadfully  pale  and  ill,  and  coughed  without 
stopping,  and  the  child's  big,  black  eyes  looked 
very  sorrowful. 

The  doctor's  servant  came  out  of  the  white 
house,  and  roughly  ordered  them  away,  with 
abuse  which  shocked  Bryda  to  hear. 

Evidently  the  kind  doctor  was  not  at  home, 
for  he  would  have  been  sorry  for  the  poor  sick 
woman,  who  was  trying  to  earn  a  few  pence 


84  MIXED  PICKLES. 

when  any  one  who  was  better  off  would  have 
been  in  bed,  carefully  nursed. 

Bryda  had  a  penny  ;  she  meant  to  buy  sugar- 
candy,  but  she  dropped  it  into  the  little  tin,  and 
was  rewarded  by  a  bright  smile  on  the  little 
face,  and  "Tank  you,  signorina  ;"  by  which  the 
little  boy  meant,  "  Thank  you,  miss."  That 
was  nicer  than  sugar-candy. 

"  I  can't  abide  f urriners,"  said  nurse.  "  Aren't 
there  any  little  white  children  for  you  to  give 
your  money  to.  Miss  Bryda,  without  encourag- 
ing those  outlandish  folks  to  beg  ?" 

Bryda  did  not  answer ;  she  was  wondering  if 
the  Lord  would  think  her  penny  of  any  use  for 
His  poor.  It  was  a  very  little  coin,  but  it  was 
all  she  had  then.  It  would  buy  a  bit  of  bread  ; 
and,  perhaps,  one  of  the  *'  few  small  fishes  "  was 
not- worth  much  more. 

As  they  came  home  again  Bryda  saw  the 
same  woman  and  child  toilincj  alono^  the  road  in 
front  of  them,  entering  the  village  again. 

The  woman  staggered  under  the  weight  of 
her  barrel-organ ;  she  seemed  very  faint  and 
weak ;  either  she  must  be  very  ill,  or  she  had 


MIXED  PICKLES.  85 

had  no  proper  food.  Perhaps  both  misfortunes 
were  hers. 

A  baker's  man  went  riding  by  with  some 
J  oaves  in  a  l)asket.  As  he  passed  the  Italian 
woman  the  horse  seemed  frightened,  either  at 
her  white  sleeves  or  at  the  instrument  she 
carried,  and  Bryda  saw  him  sway  violent  and 
throw  one  of  the  loaves  out  upon  the  road.  The 
baker  did  not  miss  it,  and  rode  on  faster,  beating 
his  horse. 

But  the  little  Italian  boy  sprang  at  it ;  and 
Bryda  felt  sure  he  was  cruelly  hungry  from  the 
way  in  which  he  seized  the  bread  and  put  it 
to  his  mouth.  He  did  not  bite  it  though,  but 
changing  his  mind,  ran  to  his  mother,  and  held 
it  out. 

"  Madre  mia,  pane  r  he  cried.  "  My  mother, 
bread !"  he  meant. 

The  lad's  mother  looked  at  the  loaf  of  bread 
for  a  moment — only  a  moment ;  then  she  shook 
her  head,  and  spoke  to  the  child  in  Italian.  The 
baker  had  stopped  at  a  house  by  the  roadside  ; 
the  boy  was  off  like  the  vnnd,  and  soon  came 
up  breathless,  and  handed  him  the  loaf. 


86  MIXED  PICKLES. 

The  baker  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  gave 
the  child  a  roll,  with  which  he  rau  back  to  his 
mother.  Then  he  broke  it  in  two  and  offered 
her  the  large  half,  beginning  at  once  to  munch 
the  otlier  himself.  The  mother  took  a  little  of 
the  piece  he  had  given  her,  but  she  seemed  too 
faint  and  weak  to  eat  more  than  a  mouthful. 

By  this  time  Bryda  and  her  nurse  had  over- 
taken them. 

"  Little  boy,"  said  Bryda  shyly,  all  her  pity 
roused  by  the  scene,  "  where  do  you  live  ?" 

The  child  was  not  shy ;  he  looked  her  full  in 
the  face  with  his  big  black  eyes,  and  pointed  to 
the  village. 

"  In  house-yesterday-next-day,"  he  said  in  his 
broken  English. 

"  You  are  living  there  for  a  few  days,  are 
you?''  asked  Bryda,  puzzled. 

The  boy  nodded. 

"  Do  tell  me  your  name  ?"  she  asked  again. 

"  Beppo,  signorina." 

Here  nurse  again  interposed.  She  was  a 
cross-grained  woman,  very  faithful  to  her  duty, 
but  with  little  sympathy  to  spare,  and  she  did 


Little  boy,"  said  Bryda  shyly,  "  where  do  you  live?"— Page  86. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  87 

not  at  all  approve  of  "  Miss  Bryda's  notions," 
about  caring  for  the  poor. 

"  When  you  get  your  governess  and  plenty  of 
lessons  to  do,  you  won't  be  so  anxious  about 
them  low  creatures,  miss,"  she  told  Bryda. 
"Learn  to  play  tunes  on  the  piano,  and  paint 
pictures  like  other  young  ladies — that's  what 
you've  got  to  think  about." 

But  poor  little  Bryda,  though  she  often,  as 
we  have  seen,  got  into  trouble  and  mischief  (for 
she  was  not  at  all  a  model  little  girl),  did  really 
want  to  serve  the  Lord  Jesus,  of  whose  great 
love  she  had  learned,  and  her  great  wish  was  to 
know  what  a  little  girl  could  do  for  Him. 

The  Lord  Jesus  was  always  helping  the  poor, 
and  she  knew  His  faithful  servants  did  the 
same,  so  it  was  a  sad  puzzle  to  her  to  find  such 
treatment  as  Moll  Dawson's,  when  she  tried  to 
do  some  good.  Perhaps  Uncle  Jack  was  right, 
and  she  ought  not  to  have  tried  to  do  what  was 
only  grown  people's  work. 

But  here  was  this  little  Italian  boy.  He 
looked  sad,  and  seemed  hungry  and  very  poor, 
and  his  mother  was  so  ill.     How  sad  it  was ! 


88  MIXED   PICKLES. 

Bryda  knelt  by  the  window  when  she  came 
home,  and  looked  up  at  the  beautiful  blue  sky, 
where  a  happy  lark  was  singing — so  high  up 
he  ought  to  be  nearly  at  the  doors  of  heaven. 

"Oar  Father,"  she  prayed,  "let  me  help 
Beppo  a  little,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake." 

And  this  little  prayer  of  "one  of  His  little 
ones"  went  straight  to  the  ear  of  the  loving 
Father,  who  is  Iways  more  ready  to  hear  than 
we  to  pray ;  and  very  soon  it  was  answered. 

God  has  so  much  work  for  hands,  and  brains, 
and  tongues,  and  feet.  In  this  world  a  ehihl 
who  loves  "  helping  mother,"  can  do  many  a 
little  thing  for  her,  and  the  work  is  sooner  done, 
because  of  such  small  lielps.  And  so  the  great 
Father,  who  uses  the  little  dewdrops  to  water 
His  thirsty  world,  will  give  to  every  happy, 
willing  worker  something  to  do,  little  works  for 
the  little  ones,  more  to  His  great  angels,  and  at 
last  heaven  shall  be  full  of  "servants"  who 
"serve  Him"  and  see  His  face,  and  are  never 
sorrowful,  or  stupid,  or  tired,  or  disappointed  in 
anything  any  more. 

When  Bryda  had  asked  God  to  let  her  lielp 


"  Our  Father,"  Bryda  prayed,  "  let  me  help  Beppo."— Page  88. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  89 

Beppo  she  felt  much  happier.  She  would  talk 
by  and  by  to  Cousin  Salome  about  him. 

Meantime  she  had  the  greatest  of  all  treats, 
for  in  the  afternoon  Uncle  Jack  was  going  to 
drive  in  his  dogcart,  with  Paddy  in  the  shafts  ; 
and  the  pace  at  which  Paddy  went  was  what 
Uncle  Jack  called  "greased  lightning."  Any- 
how, it  was  something  very  different  from  the 
solemn  jog,  jog,  jog,  one,  two,  three,  four,  one, 
two,  three,  four,  of  Gog  and  Magog,  when  the 
grannies  took  her  out,  and  old  John  dozed  on 
the  box. 

"It's  so  dull  to  have  to  drive  alone,"  said 
Uncle  Jack  at  lunch,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Call  for  Captain  Tomkins,  and  take  him 
out,"  said  grandmother. 

"I'm  so  shy,"  answered  Uncle  Jack  sadly. 
"  But  if  I  could  find  a  young  lady,  a  very  young 
lady  of  about  eight  or  so,  to  come  with  rae^^ " 

"  Oh !  Uncle  Jack,  take  me !"  burst  out 
Bryda.  And  so  he  did ;  and  best  of  all,  when 
they  were  fairly  started.  Uncle  Jack  lit  a  big 
cigar,  and  between  the  puffs  went  on  with  bio 
fairy  tale. 


90  MIXED   PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   BEST   OF   THE   STOKY. 

"  So  the  Faiiy  Set-'era-right  waved  her  hand 
over  the  troop  of  child i-en.  ^  You  shall  all  feel 
like  grown-up  people/  she  said. 

"  In  a  few  minutes  a  strange  change  began  to 
come  over  them  all.  A  great  game  of  *  blind- 
man's  -buff'  was  going  on,  when  suddenly 
several  of  the  girls  put  themselves  into  very 
stiff,  solemn  attitudes,  just  like  old  maids,  and 
said,  'Really,  they  thought  they  were  almost 
afraid  they  could  not  play  any  more.  Such 
games,  especially  at  their  time  of  life,  were 
hardly  quite  proper.'  So  they  would  not  go 
on.  Others,  again,  declared  that  tliere  was 
nothing  they  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  as  watch- 
ing people  playing  at  these  kind  of  amusements ; 
but  for  themselves — well,  if  the  others  did  not 
mind,  they  would  like  just  to  sit  quietly  and 


MIXED  PICKLES.  91 

watcb.  So  tliey  did,  and  presently  some  of  the 
boys  began  stroking  that  part  of  their  faces 
wheio  a  mustache  might  some  day  grow,  and 
remarking  that  ^  Haw !  don't  know,  you  know 
— a — this  sort  of  thing  was  all  very  well  for 
schoolboys,  but  really — a — we  could  not,  you 
know.' " 

This  sentence  Uncle  Jack  brought  out  with 
a  very  funny  drawl,  the  boys  being  turned  into 
dreadfully  fashionable  fellows. 

"The  crowning  point,"  continued  Uncle 
Jack,  ^^  was  reached  when  the  blind  man,  push- 
ing down  his  bandage,  stood  still,  and  addressed 
this  altered  crowd  very  seriously  indeed. 
*  What  miserable  folly  is  this  V  he  asked. 
'  Shall  we  mortals  waste  our  precious  flying 
moments  in — in  what,  my  brethren?' 

"  You  see  he  had  turned  into  a  preacher,"  ex- 
plained Uncle  Jack. 

"  ^  In  what  a  miserable,  frivolous  occupation  ! 
catching  each  other  ! — nay,  only  trying  to  catch 
each  other !  Poor  fools  and  blind  !  let  us  cease, 
I  say — '  But  he  had  no  one  to  say  it  to,  for 
the  whole  audience  had  gone  oif  in  different 


93  MIXED  PICKLES. 

directions,  and  the  preacher  had  only  his  little 
brother  of  five  left  to  listen  to  his  wise  words. 
'  Come  along,  Tommy,'  said  he,  *  I  will  try  and 
find  some  one  for  you  to  play  with,  little  man.' 

^*  ^  Play  with  !'  answered  the  little  brother 
in  a  tone  of  utter  surprise.  ^My  dear  sir,  I 
have  no  time  to  play.  Letters,  telegrams, 
appointments  by  scores  fill  my  time.  Let  me 
tell  yon,  sir,  there  is  no  busier  man  than  your 
humble  servant  in  tlie  whole  country.' 

'^With  which  he  turned  about  and  strode  off 
with  the  longest  strides  his  little  legs  in  their 
blue  sailor  trousers  could  take ;  for  he  had  be- 
come a  man  of  business. 

" '  This  is  too  absurd,'  muttered  the  elder,  and 
went  off  to  look  for  the  church  of  which  he  was 
vicar. 

^'  The  same  remarkable  change  came  over  all 
the  children.  One  little  brat  wdio  was  busy 
teasing  an  unfortunate  kitten  stopped  suddenly, 
and  rushed  off  in  search  of  pen  and  paper,  with 
which  he  returned,  and  began  at  once  to  com- 
pose an  ode  *  To  Tabitha.' 


Tommy  had  now  become  a  poet.— Page  98. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  93 

'*  *  Fairest  pussy  ever  seen! 

With  mine  eyes  of  clearest  green. 
Fly  me  not/ 


That  was  how  it  began,  for  he  had  become  a 
poet." 

"I  thought  poets  wrote  about  knights  and 
ladies,  and  green  fields  and  the  moon,"  remon- 
strated Bryda. 

'^  So  they  do.  But  sometimes  they  want  a 
new  subject,  and  this  young  genius  thought  he 
had  found  one. 

"Well,  all  the  children,  without  losing  their 
child  faces  and  figures,  turned  into  the  sort  of 
people  they  would  be  when  they  were  grown 
up.  So  of  course  their  games  seemed  very  dull, 
and  they  wanted  grown-up  occupations.  But 
not  knowing  quite  how  to  set  to  work,  they 
were  all  lounging  vaguely  about,  when  the  clear 
notes  of  a  bugle  sounded  through  the  city. 

"This  was  the  well-known  signal  for  the 
assembling  of  the  whole  population  in  the  park, 
and  off  went  all  these  queer  grown-up  children 
to  the  place  of  meeting.     Here  they  were  met 


94  MIXED  PICKLES. 

by  Queen  May,  who  sat  on  a  garden-chair  with 
her  court  around  her,  all  looking  very  solemn. 

"  ^  My  faithful  subjects,'  said  the  queen,  *  I 
have  sent  for  you  to  consider  a  very  grave 
question.  I  regret  to  state  that  the  affairs  of 
this  kingdom  are  in  a  condition  which  will, 
perhaps,  be  best  described  as  unsatisfactory.' 

"  *  Hear,  hear  !'  said  a  gentleman  of  four,  bow- 
ing gravely. 

"  *  Hear,  hear  !'  echoed  many  voices. 

"^Perhaps  the  most  unsatisfactory  point  is,' 
went  on  Queen  May,  who,  you  see,  talked  in 
very  grown-up  language,  *  is,  I  say,  the  banish- 
ment of  a  large  portion  of  the  population ;  that 
portion,  in  fact,  which  we  were  formerly  accus- 
tomed to  call  our  elders  and  betters.' 

"  Cries  of  '  No,  no  !' 

"  Queen  May  went  on  to  explain  that  after 
all  they  got  on  badly  without  these  elders. 
With  all  their  efforts  the  young  folks  had  not 
strength  or  skill  to  do  a  variety  of  things, 
without  which  the  round  of  life  seemed  likely 
soon  to  come  to  a  standstill.  So  she  proposed 
that  she  and  all  who  would  go  should  start  at 


MIXED  PICKLES.  95 

once  for  the  mountain  and  fetch  home  the 
exiles. 

"There  was  some  murmuring  at  this.  The 
old  law  might  be  carried  out,  and  the  children 
made  wretched  again. 

"  ^  And — why,  bless  me,'  said  an  elderly  per- 
son of  nine,  as  he  fixed  on  a  double  eyeglass 
with  gold  rims,  ^they  might  actually  want  to 
send  me,  rae !  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock  !' 

u  i  Pi^oper  conditions  would  be  made,'  the 
queen  said. 

"One  after  another  all  the  objections  were 
overcome,  and  a  long  pi'ocession  started,  with 
Queen  May,  mounted  on  a  white  pony,  at  its 
head. 

"On  arriving  at  the  mountain  they  were 
greatly  surprised  to  meet  the  king,  that  stern 
tyrant  who  wanted  to  stop  all  fun,  running  as 
hard  as  his  legs  could  carry  his  fat  body,  with 
his  crown  on  the  back  of  his  liead,  and  a  green 
net-bag  tied  on  to  the  end  of  his  scepter,  chasing 
a  white  butterfly. 

"*  Please,  your  majesty,'  began  Queen  May 
shyly;  but  the  king  only  looked  round  for  a 


96  MIXED  PICKLES. 

moment,  and  ran  on,  then  tumbled  over  a  furze 
bush,  so  that  his  crown  rolled  far  away,  and  the 
butterfly  escaped,  while  he  lay  there  kicking. 

"The  children  were  very  much  surprised  at 
this,  and  thought  the  king  must  have  gone  mad, 
and,  in  fact,  they  felt  very  penitent,  for  they 
supposed  his  hurried  flight  must  have  been  too 
much  for  the  brain,  so  they  were  to  blame  for 
this  terrible  alteration. 

"  A  little  further  on,  however,  they  were  still 
more  surprised  to  see  a  circle  of  the  most  serious 
old  maids  in  the  whole  capital,  ladies  whose 
time  was  mostly  spent  in  making  flannel  gar- 
ments for  the  poor,  or  sitting  at  neat  tea-tables 
with  neat  curls  on  each  side  of  their  faces,  and 
a  neat  cat,  curled  on  a  neat  cushion,  in  a  neat 
chair,  close  at  hand,  and  these  old  ladies  were 
all  screaming  and  laughing  like  children. 

"These  very  respectable  old  ladies  now  looked 
anything  but  neat!  Their  curls  were  flying  in 
all  directions,  and  they  were  screaming  with 
laughter,  pinching  each  other,  and  making  all 
sorts  of  silly  jokes  over  a  furious  game  of  *hunt 
the  slipper.'     For  you  see  they  had  gone  back 


MIXED  PICKLES.  97 

to  what  they  used  to  like  when  they  were 
children. 

"  Queen  May  looked  at  them  gravely. 

"  *  Dear  friends,'  she  said,  ^  at  your  age,  is  this 
decorous  ?     Is  it  proper  ?     Is  it  even  ladylike  V 

"  '  There  it  is !  Catch  it !  Catch  it !'  cried 
one  of  the  old  ladies. 

"  ^  Come  and  play  with  us  !'  cried  another. 

"  None  of  the  rest  paid  any  attention  to  the 
serious  looks  of  the  grown-up  children,  who  went 
sadly  on  toward  the  fort,  hoping  to  find  some 
one  more  reasonable. 

"  The  next  person  they  saw  was  the  lord 
chancellor,  a  l>ald,  stout  old  gentleman,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  woolsack,  which,  you  remember, 
he  had  carried  away  on  his  back.  He  was  very 
busy  with  a  pipe,  and  the  children  thought  he 
was  smoking,  and  grew  more  hopeful.  He 
might  have  some  trace  of  good  sense  left,  they 
thought,  if  he  could  care  for  such  a  grown-up 
pursuit." 

Here  Uncle  Jack  offered  his  cigar  to  Biyda 
politely ;  but  she  made  a  face  and  turned  her 
head  away. 


98  MIXED  PICKLES. 

'*  I  don't  want  to  be  so  grown-up  as  tlmt^'^  she 
said. 

*'  Oh  !"  said  Uncle  Jack,  with  his  funny  face, 
that  he  always  put  on  to  tease  Bryda.  *^0h,  I 
thought  you  wanted  to  grow  up  all  of  a  sudden." 

"  Well — only  for  some  things,"  answered  she, 
feeling  that  Uncle  Jack  was  taking  a  mean 
advantage  in  remembering  her  sayings,  and 
bringing  them  up  again.  "  Please  go  on,"  she 
added  hastily. 

Uncle  Jack  winked  at  her  very  slowly  and 
solemnly  ;  then  took  a  good  puff  at  his  cigar, 
and  went  on. 

^'  When  they  came  up  he  was  found  to  be 
blowing  soap-bubbles ! 

^' '  A-ah  r  he  spluttered,  trying  to  talk  with 
the  pipe  in  his  mouth.  *D-don't  break  it, 
please !  There !'  as  the  bubble  burst  and 
vanished  ;  ^  it's  too  bad,  I  declare  !  Directly  I 
get  a  really  good  one,  big  and  bright,  that 
always  happens.  Have  a  try,'  he  added,  offer- 
ing Queen  May  the  pipe. 

"'I  say,  my  lord,'  said  the  major-general 
commanding  the  royal  army,  coming  up  at  the 


MIXED  PICKLES.  99 

moment,  '  can  you  tell  me  how  to  mend  lead 
soldiers?  I've  tried  gum  and  glue,  and  one  of 
the  maids  of  honor  tried  to  sew  one,  but  some- 
how they  don't  join  properly.  It's  a  horrid 
bore,  and  that  fellow,  the  speaker,  won't  let  me 
have  a  ride  on  his  rocking-horse.  I'd  punch 
him,  only  he's  six  feet  three,  and  as  broad  as 
he's  long.     So  I  don't  know  what  to  play  at.' 

"*It  is  slow,'  answered  the  lord  chancellor, 
pityingly.  *  Never  mind,  old  chap,  come  up  to 
the  fort  and  we'll  make  some  toffee.' 

^^  So  the  elderly  gentlemen  went  off  arm-in^ 
arm,  and  Queen  May  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  ^  They  are  all  mad,  poor  things  !  What  are 
we  to  do  V 

"  *  Hi !  hi !'  cried  a  voice,  and  looking  round 
they  saw  that  tall,  handsome  nobleman,  the 
master  of  the  horse,  running  toward  them  as 
fast  as  he  could.  At  last,  perhaps,  they  had 
found  some  one  to  speak  sensibly  to. 

" '  Hi !  you  fellows,'  he  cried  breathlessly  ; 
"  stop  a  minute,  will  you  ?  Is  that  a  circus  pony  ? 
and  can  he  do  tricks  ?  Sit  up  with  a  hat  on, 
and  drink  out  of  teacups,  I  mean.' 


100  MIXED   PICKLES. 

"  *  Certainly  not,'  replied  Queen  May,  with 
her  utmost  dignity.  ^I  hardly  understand, 
Lord  Moyers,  how  you  can  ask  such  a  strange 
question.  Did  you  ever  see  a  lady,  especially 
if  she  were  a  crowned  queen,  riding  a  circus 
pony  V 

"Lord  Moyers  giggled,  and  turned  head-over 
heels  on  the  spot,  after  w^hich  he  rushed  off 
again  to  join  the  rest  of  the  House  of  Lords,  who 
were  playing  ^  hi !  cockalorum,'  close  by. 

^^  The  procession  went  on  very  sorrowfully 
toward  the  fort.  It  grieved  them  to  see  this 
frivolity  in  those  to  whom  they  had  been  taught 
to  look  up. 

"  *  Alas,  my  country  !'  sighed  Eric,  the  boy 
who,  you  remember,  had  proposed  to  kill  the 
pig  before  he  was  touched  with  the  fairy  wand. 

"Perhaps  it  was  on  arriving  at  the  gates  of 
the  fort  that  the  very  strangest  sight  was  seen. 
The  queen  was  a  very  stout  and  middle-aged 
person,  of  rather  stern  countenance,  and  here 
she  was  busy  with  a  skipping  rope — her  hair 
loose,  her  royal  robes  tucked  up,  and  her  crown 
on  one  side. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  101 

" '  It's  the  best  fun  and  the  finest  exercise  in 
the  world,'  she  gasped.  ^  If  I  could  only  skip 
twice  to  one  turn  of  the  rope  !' 

"And  on  she  went,  while  the  children 
watched.  But  there  was  something  so  utterly 
ridiculous  about  the  sight  that  Queen  May  and 
her  followers,  after  various  vain  efforts  to 
suppress  their  mirth,  burst  into  one  peal  of 
laughter,  which  rang  merrily  through  the  old 
fort,  and  over  the  hillside. 

^'  It  broke  the  charm,  and  in  a  moment  the 
children  became  children  again,  and  the  grown 
people  became  as  they  were  before. 

"  There  was  a  large  flat  field  on  the  moun- 
tain top,  in  front  of  the  gates  of  the  old  fort, 
and  here  all  the  exiles  were  in  a  few  minutes 
assembled. 

"  The  king  was  about  to  address  them,  when 
in  a  moment,  no  one  knowing  how  she  came 
there,  the  Fairy  Set-'em-right  stood  among  them, 
close  beside  his  majesty. 

"  ^  You  have  all  learned  a  lesson,  and  I » will 
put  in  into  words  for  you,'  she  said." 

"  Oh,  dear  !"  interrupted  Bryda,  "  here  comes 


103  MIXED   PICKLES. 

the  moral !  Don't  make  a  very  hard  one,  Uncle 
Jack,  please !" 

He  laughed.  "I  must  finish  this  truthful 
story  truthfully,  miss. 

"  She  said,  turning  to  the  king  and  queen : 

"  ^  Your  fault  was  that  you  forgot  you  once 
were  young  yourselves.' " 

Bryda  nodded  her  head  very  wisely. 

"^And  you,  children,  forgot  that  you  could 
not  do  without  old  people.  That  wicked  law  is 
at  once  repealed.' 

"^Certainly,  ma'am,'  said  the  king,  bowing. 

" '  Children  are  to  be  children,  and  behave  as 
such,  and  be  treated  as  such.  Parents  are  par- 
ents, the  children  are  not  to  forget  that.  Now 
go  home  all  of  you,  and  don't  forget  this  one 
one  caution,  Tve  got  my  eye  on  yon^ 

"  With  these  awful  words  the  fairy  vanished. 
And  that's  the  end  of  the  story." 

"  And  a  very  nice  ending,  too  !"  said  Bryda. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  103 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    PRINCE    IN    DISGUISE. 

More  good-tempered  than  usual  next  morn- 
ing, nurse  was  easily  persuaded  by  Bryda  that 
the  village  would  be  quite  the  nicest  direction 
for  a  walk.  She  wanted  to  see  that  nice  old 
Roger  again,  and  perhaps  they  might  even  meet 
Beppo.  She  begged  a  roll  left  from  breakfast, 
and  put  it,  wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  old  copy-book, 
with  some  pennies,  in  her  pocket. 

The  blacksmith  was  in  his  forge,  and  had 
some  very  important  news  for  nurse,  and  Roger 
was  outside  his  door  busily  weaving  the  cane 
seat  of  a  chair  he  had  made,  for  he  was  a  jack- 
of-two- trades,  if  not  of  all  trades,  and  made 
chairs  from  beginning  to  end. 

"  Good  morning,  Roger,"  said  Bryda,  as  she 
came  up. 

"  Good  morning,  missy.     A  good  morning  it 


104  MIXED   PICKLES. 

is,  though  not  like  yesterday.  That  was  a  sort 
o'  wedding  day,  with  the  world  in  a  green  dress, 
covered  wdth  jewels  made  of  dewdrops,  while 
the  birds  sang  a  hymn,  and  the  great  gold  sun 
came  in  his  best  blue  dress  to  marry  her," 
answered  the  poetical  Roger. 

''  And  to-day,  Roger  ?     What's  that  like  ?" 

*^  Ah  !  to-day's  a  good  honest  workiii'  day, 
missy,  made  for  the  busy  bees  and  all  the 
Lord's  workin'  folk." 

"  Cats  aren't  working  folk,"  said  Bryda,  strok- 
ing Roger's  sleek  tabby. 

"  Maybe  cats'   work   is   to   keep   lone  folk 
company,  missy,"  said  the  disguised  prince,  for 
as  such  his  little  friend  always  thought  of  him. 

^'  Shall  you  have  cats  in  }  our  palace  ?"  she 
asked. 

"That'll  be  as  the  king  pleases,  missy.  I  do 
hope  so,  for  I  be  main  fond  o'  cats." 

"  Is  taV)})y  very  old  ?  she's  very  lazy." 

"  I  don't  ricrhtlv  know  how  old  she  is.  You 
see,  missy,  nigh  on  two  years  ago  my  house  cat 
died.  Well,  I  suppose  the  village  cats  told 
each  other  when  they  met  on  the  house-tops  at 


MIXED   PICKLES.  105 

night.  Anyhow  I  never  could  open  my  door  of 
a  morning  that  there  wasn't  one  cat,  or  maybe 
two  and  three  cats,  applying  for  the  situation, 
each  one  with  a  first-rate  character  from  his  last 
place. 

Bryda  laughed  heartily.  ''  How  did  they 
tell  you?" 

"  How  ?  Why,  bless  you,  little  miss,  it's 
often  easier  to  know  what  God  Almighty's 
brutes  mean  than  what  men  mean,  for  all  we 
call  the  brutes  dumb.  Tell  me  all  about  it 
they  did,  rubbin'  against  me  and  purrin',  how 
the  master  of  one  had  gone  away,  and  the  mis- 
tress of  another  was  dead;  and  how  one  was  a 
real  good  mouser,  and  another  was  that  honest 
he'd  rather  starve  than  steal. 

^'  Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  missy,  I 
took  Mrs.  Tabby  for  a  month  on  trial,  to  see  if 
she'd  make  a  good  housekeeper.  An'  we  suited, 
she  and  I,  and  she's  never  given  me  warning 
yet,  nor  I  her,  so  I  don't  think  we'll  part  com- 
pany till  I  go  home.'"' 

"  When  are  you  going,  Roger  ?"  asked  Bryda. 
She  could  not  help  puzzling  a  good  deal  over 


106 


MIXED   PICKLES. 


this  story  of  the  old  man's,  about  his  palace 
home;  but  he  spoke  so  simply  and  naturally 
that  she  could  not  doubt  that  he  spoke  the 
truth. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know,"  he  answered  slowly ; 


"  I'm  thinking  when  it's  ready  they'll  let  me 
know.  But  I'd  be  main  glad  to  stay  a  little 
longer  now,  Miss  Bryda,  for  all  I've  often 
wearied  to  be  there.     Shall  I  show  you  why  ?" 

"  Please  do." 

The  old  carpenter  got  up  and  opened  a  door 


MIXED  PICKLES.  107 

opposite  to  that  which  led  to  his  own   little 
room,  and  there  Bryda  saw  a  touching  sight. 

The  poor  Italian  woman  was  sitting  propped 
up  with  pillows  in  a  straight-ljacked  old  arm- 
chair, with  Beppo  in  her  arms.  The  child 
seemed  to  have  grown  sleepy  after  play,  or  per- 
haps, like  his  countrymen,  he  was  accustomed 
to  take  a  nap  at  midday.  At  all  events  he  was 
sleeping,  and  the  poor  sick  mother  was  gently 
rocking  the  heavy  boy,  and  singing  a  soft  little 
Italian  cradle  song : 

"Ninni,  ninni,  ninni,  nanna, 
Ninni,  nanna,  ninni,  nolu, 
Allegrezza  di  la  mamma, 
Addormentati,  oh  figliolu.^' 


That  is 


■  Joy  of  thy  mother. 

Fall  asleep,  oh,  my  little  son!*' 


How  white  she  looked  and  how  weary  !  She 
laid  her  finger  on  her  lip,  and  looked  at  the 
curly  black  head  on  her  knee.  Roger  closed  the 
door  softly,  and  went  back  to  his  seat  on  tip- 
toe. 


108  MIXED  PICKLES. 

"  I  think,  missy,"  he  said,  "  it  won't  be  long 
before  the  Everlasting  Arms  are  put  round  her, 
to  soothe  her  gently  to  sleep,  as  she  do  the  little 
'un." 

"  Is  she  dying,  Roger  V  asked  Bryda,  in  an 
awe-struck  voice. 

"  Ay,"  answered  the  carpenter,  wiping  his 
spectacles,  which  had  suddenly  grown  dim. 
"That  little  black  head'll  not  long  have  a 
mother  to  lean  against ;  though  she'll  want  for 
nothing  as  I  can  get  her  ;  and  doctor,  he  sent 
her  full  two  pints  o'  stuff,  all  for  nothing.  But 
he  shook  his  head,  he  did,  and  I  know  what  he 
means  by  that  only  too  well ;  he  did  it  to  my 
Liz  twenty-five  years  ago,  come  March  next." 

Bryda  felt  very  sorrowful.  Her  own  mother 
had  gone  to  India,  but  then  she  wrote  letters, 
nice  long  ones,  every  week.  And  she  would 
come  back.  But  poor  Bepjio  would  have  no 
letter  from  his  mother  if  once  she  went  away, 
as  she  knew  Roger's  loved  \vife  Liz  had  done, 
for  there  was  an  old  gravestone  by  the  old 
church  door  with  that  one  little  word  roughly 
cut  upon  it — "Liz."     And  on  it  last  Sunday 


MIXED  PICKLES.  109 

she  had  seen  the  old  man  lay  a  bunch  of  fresh 
flowers,  as  he  passed  in  to  pray. 

'^  Will  you  share  your  riches  with  her,  Koger 
— that  money  you  told  me  you  had  stored 
away  ?"  she  asked. 

"My  hid  treasure,  missy?  Ah,  that  I  will ! 
There's  so  much  o'  that — ah,  so  much  ! — that  I 
might  share  it  wi'  every  soul  as  passed  the  door 
and  be  none  the  worse  off  myseF," 

"  You  won't  want  it  in  your  palace,  will  you? 
Or  is  there  more  of  it  there  ?  Chests  and  chests 
of  precious  things  all  the  palaces  in  fairy  tales 
have  in  them.  But  they  are  only  made  up," 
added  Bryda,  with  a  little  sigh.  That's  the 
worst  of  fairy  tales.  But  your  treasures  are 
really  true,  aren't  they,  Roger  ?" 

"  True  when  all  else  is  false,  missy ;  safe 
when  all  else  is  lost;  real  when  all  else  is  a 
sham." 

Bryda  longed  to  ask  more  about  this 
wonderful  wealth  of  the  old  man  who  looked 
so  poor.     He  must  be  a  miser,  she  thought. 

"  Roger,  are  all  the  king's  sons  as  rich  as  you 
are  ?  and  his  daughters?  or  are  you  the  eldest  ?" 


110  MIXED  PICKLES. 

"There's  enough  for  all  alike,  missy.  No 
one's  too  rich  or  too  poor  in  our  Father's  bouse. 
But  our  Elder  Brother,  missy,  there's  none  like 
him — none.  The  only  wonder  is  as  he  isn't 
ashamed  of  his  sisters  and  brothers,  so  far  as 
he  is  above  them,  and  so  much  greater  than 
ever  since  his  work  was  finished." 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  about  him !  Oh,  nurse  ! 
don't  go  on  yet,  please  !"  implored  Bryda,  as 
nurse  came  up  the  little  garden-path  with  hasty 
step. 

But  nurse  would  not  stay.  She  always  said 
she  "  couldn't  abide  that  old  Methody  carpen- 
ter ; "  and  the  real  reason  of  her  dislike  was 
that  once  before,  when  she  bad  brought  Bryda 
to  stay  with  tbe  grannies,  old  Eoger  had  said 
something  she  did  not  care  to  hear,  because  she 
had  helped  to  spread  a  cruel  mischief-making 
story  about  tbe  village. 

So  Bryda  left  her  roll  and  her  pence  with 
Roger,  and  went  on  with  nurse. 

Bryda  bad  not  seen  the  last  of  Beppo  for 
that  day.  There  was  a  private  walk  through 
the  grounds,  which   led   to  the  church.     The 


MIXED  PICKLES.  Ill 

grannies  could  not  walk  so  far,  and  the  old  car- 
riage always  came  to  take  them  to  churcli. 
But  this  afternoon,  as  Bryda  was  w^andering  in 
the  garden,  it  struck  her  that  she  would  like  to 
take  some  flowers  and  put  them  on  the  grave  of 
Koger's  dear  Liz.  It  would  please  the  old  man 
to  see  them  there. 

Bryda,  of  course,  had  never  seen  Liz. 

"But  I  know  exactly  what  she  was  like,"  she 
told  herself.  "  She  was  not  very  tall,  but  just 
nice;  and  she  had  violet  eyes  and  long  black 
lashes,  and  pretty  rosy  cheeks — not  too  red,  but 
pink  like  a  peach.  Oh,  I  know  she  was  nice! 
And  she  always  wore  a  brown  gown,  and  a  red 
handkerchief  crossed  on  her  chest.  And  I 
don't  wonder  Roger  loved  her.  I  should,  too, 
for  she  always  spoke  gently,  not  like  nurse." 

So  Bryda  grew  quite  fond  of  the  Liz  she  had 
thus  invented  while  she  gathered  her  flowers. 

"I  wonder  what  flower  Liz  was  like?  Cousin 
Salome  says  we  ought  all  to  be  like  flowers 
in  God's  garden.  If  we  are,  I'd  rather  be  like 
some  flowers  than  others.  Here  is  a  tall  orange 
lily.     Oh,  you  great,  showy  thing !     How  stiff 


112  MIXED  PICKLES. 

and  proud  you  are !  And  I  tell  you  you're  not 
so  very  pretty,  after  all,"  said  Bryda  severely. 

The  orange  lily  did  not  seem  to  mind  in  the 
least,  but  stood  up  just  as  proudly  as  ever. 

^'  You  poppies,  red  and  white,"  went  on  Bryda, 
"you  have  much  nicer  manners:  you're  like 
ladies  who  are  polite  as  well,  and  say  nicely, 
^How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Jones?  Will  you  sell  me 
some  chickens,  please  V  You  yellow  flowers — I 
don't  know  your  name — you're  very  nice  till 
one  comes  close,  and  then  you  smell  horrid.  I 
think  you  are  like  people  who  are  very  polite 
to  strangers,  but  are  nasty  and  cross  at  home, 
and  slap  when  they  play  games. 

"  You,  dear  roses,"  she  went  on,  talking  to  all 
the  flowers  in  turn,  "you  are  really  too  lovely ! 
But  I  mustn't  put  you  on  Liz's  grave,  because 
the  grannies  don't  like  you  gathered  ;  you  are 
like  beautiful  ladies  in  pictures,  who  get  prettier 
and  prettier  if  you  go  on  looking  at  them 

"  Here  are  pansies — hearts'ease,  nurse  calls 
them.  That  is  the  right  flower  for  Liz  !  She 
was  Sv>  gentle,  and  good,  and  kind  that  she 
made  every  one  happy.     If  you  fell  down  and 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


113 


were  hurt,  or  if  you  had  that  horrid  ache  all 
over,  that  comes  of  being  naughty  or  unhappy, 
and  you  told  Liz,  she  would  make  you  all  right 
in  no  time.     She  shall  have  hearts'ease  on  her 


grave  and  nothing  else,  except  a  little   mignon- 
ette, for  that  is  quiet  and  sweet  like  she  was." 

So  Bryda  twisted  up  a  pretty  wreath  of 
hearts'ease  and  mignonette,  to  take  to  the  grave 
of  this  Liz,  whose  looks  and  character  you  see 
she  had  invented  for  herself,  for  you  know  if 


114  MIXED  PICKLES. 

the  carpenter  was  really  a  prince  in  disguise,  of 
course  his  wife  and  daughter  were  princesses. 
Bryda  would  take  the  first  possible  chance  of 
asking  old  Koger  more  about  his  brother  and 
about  the  palace,  and  if  he  would  not  be  sorry 
that  Liz  could  never  go  there  with  him.  Mean- 
while she  set  off  down  the  pretty  shrubbery 
walk  with  her  simple  little  wreath  to  lay  on  the 
princess'  grave. 

"  No  one  would  call  her  Princess  Liz.  I  sup. 
pose  she  was  Princess  Elizabeth,"  she  said  to 
herself. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  115 


CHAPTER  X. 

BEPPO'S     FRIEND. 

Away  went  Miss  Bryda,  with  her  head  full 
of  Liz  and  her  charms,  the  flowers  in  her  hand, 
to  the  churchyard. 

It  was  peaceful  there  in  the  quiet  September 
sunshine,  and  Biyda  felt  sorry  to  think  that  the 
dead  people  could  not  see  how  pretty  their 
resting-place  looked.  It  was  a  large  church- 
yard, with  some  old  vaults,  and  white  crosses 
over  newer  graves ;  indeed,  many  generations  of 
old  and  young  were  asleep  there.  It  was  a  city 
of  rest,  with  the  gray  old  church  for  its  temple 
in  the  middle;  and  its  streets  were  mossy 
paths,  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  great,  noisy, 
restless  streets  of  the  big  towns  of  the  living. 

Bryda  put  her  green  wreath  with  its  purple 
and  yellow  stars  on  the  humble  grave  where 
there  was  no  grand  inscription  like  that  to  Sir 


116  MIXED  PICKLES. 

Jocelyn  de  Wraymont  close  by,  with  all  his 
virtues  in  capital  letters  after  his  name ;  but 
only  that  one  word  "  Liz." 

Then  she  went  and  tried  the  door  of  the  old 
church.  It  was  open  ;  the  vicar  never  allowed 
the  building  to  be  closed,  unless  there  was 
some  urgent  reason,  so  that  any  one  who  ^vanted 
to  think  or  to  pray  quietly  might  come  in  there. 
At  first  the  village  people  thought  this  an  odd 
idea,  but  after  a  little  time  first  one  and  then 
another  found  out  this  quiet  refuge  and  slipped 
in.  There  was  always  service  morning  and 
evening  for  those  who  could  spare  time  to  attend ; 
and  though  the  worshipers  were  always  few, 
yet,  as  the  vicar  said,  "they  could  pray  for 
everybody,  and  the  Father  was  so  gracious 
that  if  only  two  or  three  were  met  together  it 
would  please  Him." 

When  Bryda  went  in  there  was  nobody  in 
the  building  but  an  old  man,  who  had  just 
risen  and  was  going  out  on  tiptoe,  with  the 
sunshine  from  a  painted  window  on  his  bent, 
white  head.  Bryda  felt  sorry  for  him,  he 
seemed  so  old  and  feeble ;  she  would  have  been 


MIXED   PICKLES.  117 

still  more  sorry  had  she  known  that  it  was  the 
evil  doing  of  his  two  sons,  and  even  of  his 
daughter  (for  he  was  Moll  Dawson's  old  father), 
that  made  him  look  old  and  bent  before  his 
time  ;  sounds  of  quarreling  were  so  often  heard 
from  the  uncomfortable  cottage  he  called  home 
that  he  often  escaped  to  the  quiet  church. 
There  he  would  sit  by  th^  hour,  sometimes  with 
tears  rolling  slowly  down  his  furrowed  cheeks, 
and  then  go  home  very  weary,  for  when  we  are 
young  we  are  not  much  the  worse  for  "  a  good 
cry,"  but  old  people's  tears  are  few  and  bitter. 

Bryda  watched  this  old  man  go  out,  and  then 
stood  still,  wondering  whether  she  should  go  in 
herself,  when  her  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
low  sound,  like  that  of  some  one  sobbing  quietly. 
She  listened  ;  the  sound  stopped  a  moment,  then 
began  again.  It  was  certainly  someone  crying, 
and  for  a  *moment  she  felt  half- frightened,  for 
she  could  not  see  any  one. 

Then  a  better  thought  came.  Perhaps  she 
could  try  and  comfort  some  one  who  was  un- 
happy, and  that  might  be  a  little  bit  of  the 
^'  Lord's  work."     She  had  once  heard  her  mother 


118  MIXED  PICKLES. 

say  that  a  child  was  sometimes  the  best  of  all 
earthly  comforters. 

So  very  quietly  she  stole  up  the  side  aisle, 
and  there,  behind  a  pillar,  she  found — Beppo  ! 

Yes,  poor  little  Beppo!  Crouched  on  the 
ground,  half-kneeling,  leaning  against  the  cold 
pillar,  the  poor  child  with  passionate  sobs 
seemed  to  be  pouring  out  all  his  heart.  His 
great  black  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  beautiful 
painted  window  opposite.  This  window  had 
been  put  in  to  the  memory  of  a  very  good  and 
charitable  young  lady,  whose  early  death  had 
been  deeply  mourned  by  every  one  who  knew 
her,  and  it  showed  a  lovely  figure,  wnth  angel's 
wings,  and  a  face  of  pity,  gently  raising  a  sick 
child,  and  looking  at  him  tenderly. 

Poor  little  Beppo,  alone  and  lonely,  had 
crept  into  the  church,  and  gazing  long  on  the 
beautiful  window,  had  presently  thought  the 
kind  face  was  watching  him  with  pity. 

He  was  in  bitter  grief,  for  his  dearly-loved 
mother  had  been  trying  to  tell  him  she  would 
soon  go  away  never  to  return.  She  had  suc- 
ceeded only  too  well,  for  the  poor  child,  when  at 


MIXED  PICKLES.  119 

last  he  understood,  brushing  past  kind  old 
Roger,  rushed  from  the  house  to  the  church 
where  he  could  be  alone.  In  his  own  country 
the  church  is  a  refuge  for  the  sorrowful,  always 
open  for  any  one  who  will  enter;  so  in  this 
strange  land  he  naturally  sought  the  old  gray 
building. 

Poor  little  boy  !  he  was  very  young  and  very 
ignorant,  and  he  had  been  taught  to  ask  for, 
and  to  hope  for,  the  help  of  saints  and  angels. 
The  doctor  could  do  little  for  his  mother; 
Roger,  kind  as  he  was,  could  not  save  her  ;  and 
poor  little  Beppo,  wild  with  grief,  and  in  the 
midst  of  strangers  who  could  scarcely  under- 
stand what  he  said,  threw  himself  before  tliis 
lovely  figure  in  the  window,  and  thought  that 
at  last  he  had  found  a  friend  to  help  him. 

All  this  Bryda  learned,  but  really  it  was 
rather  difficult.  She  could  not  "make  up" 
Italian  that  Beppo  would  understand,  in  the 
easy  way  in  which  she  and  Maurice  Grey  made 
up  Latin  to  talk  to  each  other  when  they  played 
at  Charon's  boat. 

Then  Beppo's  English  was  very  odd,  and  his 


120 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


story  was  so  often  interrupted  by  sobs,  that 
quite  a  long  time  bad  passed  before  the  little 
comforter  was  able  to  make  out  the  younger 
child's  trouble,  and  to  understand  that  he  had 


a^ 


been  talking  to  the  angel  in  the  beautiful 
window  when  she  found  him. 

Little  Bryda  was  sadly  puzzled.  Hew  was 
she  to  comfort  Beppo  ?     What  could  she  say  ? 

She  could  not  tell  him  to  hope  his  mother 
would  get  better.  That  the  doctor  said  could 
never  be.  Could  she  comfort  Beppo  with  a  lie  ? 
No,  never ! 


MIXED   PICKLES.  121 

She  could  not  say  tLe  angel  would  do  the 
poor  dying  woman  good.  The  aogel  was  very 
beautiful,  but  after  all  she  was  only  made  of 
glass  and  paint. 

So,  after  looking  sadly  at  Beppo's  tear-stained 
face  and  little  drooping  figure,  all  she  could,  say 
was: 

*'  Oh,  Beppo  !  I  am  so  sorry !" 

And  with  that  she  threw  her  arms  round  him, 
and  together  the  two  children  cried,  till  Beppo's 
sobs  came  more  gently.  This  little  English  girl 
was  sorry  because  he  was  unhappy.  After  all 
he  was  not  so  lonely ! 

"  Children  !"  said  a  voice  near  them,  so  near 
that  both  started  and  looked  up.  Bryda  sprang 
to  her  feet,  and  held  Beppo  by  the  hand,  feeling 
as  if  they  were  both  likely  to  be  scolded  for 
making  the  church  a  place  to  cry  in. 

But  there  was  no  anger  on  the  loving,  kind 
face  of  the  old  vicar,  who  stood  before  them, 
only  great  pity  for  whatever  trouble  had  caused 
these  tears.  The  Good  Shepherd,  his  Master, 
cares  as  much  for  the  pains  of  His  lambs  as  for 
those  of  His  most  prized  sheep,  and  His  mes- 


122  MIXED   PICKLES. 

senger  would  give  as  much  care  to  these  two 
children  as  to  the  greatest  people  in  the  land. 

Beckoning  them  to  follow,  he  went  quietly 
down  the  aisle  and  out  into  the  churchyard; 
there,  taking  a  hand  of  each,  he  led  them  to  a 
seat  that  was  placed  under  a  spreading  tree 
among  the  graves. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  said  kindly ; 
and  Bryda  forgot  to  be  shy  as  she  looked  into 
his  face,  and  soon  told  all  Beppo's  story  while 
the  little  boy  looked  with  wide  black  eyes,  that 
had  no  tears  in  them  now,  at  his  new  friends, 
the  old  clergyman  and  the  little  girl. 

^^  I  see,  I  see  !"  said  Mr.  Joyce,  for  that  was 
the  vicar's  name.' 

"  And  now,  Beppo,  can  you  understand  if  I 
speak  English  ?  because  then,  if  I  talk  to  you, 
this  young  lady  will  understand  too." 

Beppo  nodded  his  head. 

Mr.  Joyce  went  on :  "  There  was  once  a 
little  boy,  no  matter  how  long  ago,  whose  little 
sister  was  very  ill — so  ill  that  the  doctor  said 
there  was  no  hope  that  she  could  live  many 
days.     Now  in  the  country  where  these  children 


MIXED  PICKLES.  123 

lived  it  was  always  believed  that  if  any  mortal 
could  get  one  leaf  from  the  Tree  of  Life,  that 
grew  in  the  garden  of  God,  every  illness  would 
be  cured  at  once.  But  no  one  had  ever  tried 
to  get  this  leaf,  because  the  journey  was  steep 
and  rough  to  the  gates  of  the  garden,  and  be- 
cause an  Angel  stood  there  to  keep  the  gate 
and  would  let  no  one  pass.  But  this  little  boy 
loved  his  sister  so  well — as  well,  I  think,  as 
Beppo  loves  his  mother." 

Beppo's  dark  eyes  filled  with  tears  again, 
and  the  vicar  laid  a  hand  gently  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  So  well  that  he  could  not  have  loved  her 
more  if  he  had  tried  with  all  his  might.  And, 
when  all  other  hope  seemed  gone,  he  said,  ^I 
will  go,  I  will  beg  of  the  Angel  at  the  gate  to 
let  me  in  for  one  moment,  or  to  give  me  a  leaf, 
only  one  leaf,  from  the  Tree.' 

"So  he  went  by  the  long,  rough  way,  till  in 
the  golden  sunset  he  stood  before  that  great 
Angel,  and  trembling  made  his  request. 

*^^  None  can  enter  this  garden  but  those  chil- 
dren of  the  King  for  whom  He  has  sent,  that 


124  MIXED   PICKLES. 

they  may  be  with  Him.      I  can  let  no  other 
enter,'  answered  the  Angel. 

"  ^  But  one  lejif.'  prayed  the  child, '  one  little 
leaf  to  cure  my  sister.  The  King  will  not  be 
angry !" 

"And  as  he  spoke  he  could  hear,  though  he 
could  not  see  into  the  garden,  the  Tree  rustling 
gently,  and  the  birds  among  the  branches 
warbling  the  praises  of  the  King  of  Glory. 

"Only  one  leaf,  and  there  were  so  many  on 
the  tree !  *  The  King,  the  loving  Father,  cannot 
wish  that  my  poor  little  sister  should  have  to 
suffer  so,  and  then  die  and  leave  me  all  alone ! 
Have  pity  upon  me,  great  Angel,  it  is  such  a 
little  tliinoj  I  ask !'  entreated  the  child. 

,  "  But  the  Angel  looked  down  upon  him  with 
deep  love  and  pity  in  his  eyes. 

"  ^  The  King  has  sent  my  brother,  tlie  Angel 
of  Death,  to  bring  your  sister  to  Ilim.  81ie 
shall  dwell  forever  in  the  light  of  His  smile. 
If  you  are  allowed  to  keep  her,  will  you  promise 
me  to  take  care  that  she  shall  never  again  lie 
tossing  on  a  sick  bed  V 

"  ^  How   can  I  V    said  the  child,  wondering 


MIXED  PICKLES.  125 

'  Not  even  the  wisest  physicians  can  always  heal 
diseases  at  once.' 

"  *  Then  will  you  promise  that  she  shall  never 
be  unhappy  ?  never  do  wrong,  and  suffer  shame 
and  sorrow  ?  never  be  cold,  hungry,  tired  ?  that 
no  one  shall  speak  to  her  harshly  V  asked  the 
Angel. 

f*  ^  Not  if  I  can  help  it,'  answered  the  child. 
^But  perhaps  I  could  not  always  make  her 
happy,  even  when  I  am  grown  up.' 

*^  *  Then  the  world  where  you  want  to  keep 
her  is  rather  a  sad  place,'  the  Angel  said  gently. 
'Now  I  will  open  the  gate  a  little,  and  you 
shall  look  in  for  a  moment,  and  if  you  still  wish 
it,  my  child,  I  wall  ask  myself  that  you  may 
have  a  leaf  from  the  Tree  of  Life,  that  your 
sister  may  stay  upon  earth  with  you.' 

"  So  the  Angel  who  kept  the  golden  gate 
opened  it  a  very  little  way,  and  as  the  mighty 
door  rolled  back  for  a  moment,  the  child  could 
see  into  the  Land  where  by  the  river  stands  the 
Tree  of  Life,  and  where  those  who  are  counted 
worthy  walk  forever  in  white — where  they 
need   no  candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun,  be- 


126  MIXED  PICKLES. 

cause  the  smile  of  God  is  the  light  of  that 
wonderful  place,  and  His  servants  shall  serve 
Him,  and  no  tongue  can  tell  the  happiness  that 
is  theirs  forever  and  ever." 

'^  Did  the  little  boy  see  right  into  heaven  ?" 
asked  Bryda,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Oh,  do  tell  us 
what  he  saw !" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  he  saw,"  answered 
the  vicar ;  "  you  and  I,  little  Bryda,  have  to 
wait  awhile,  it  may  be  for  me  a  very  little  while, 
trusting  that  the  Father  will  in  His  mercy,  for 
His  Son's  sake,  give  us  a  place  there.  But  this 
I  will  tell  you,  that  the  child  turned  toward 
the  beautiful  Angel  with  eyes  full  of  wonder 
and  surprise. 

"  ^  I  will  not  ask  it  now,'  he  said  ;  *  I  think 
there  is  no  friend  so  kind  as  the  Angel  of 
Death,  who  seems  to  us  so  dreadful.  Oh,  I 
wish  he  would  take  me,  too  !'  And  the  Angel 
answered : 

"*When  all  the  lessons  which  the  Father 
desires  you  to  learn  in  His  school,  which  is 
called  the  Earth,  are  learned ;  when  the  little 
piece  of  His  great  work  that  is  meant  for  your 


MIXED  PICKLES.  127 

Lands  is  finished,  then  the  Angel  vvill  come  for 
you  too,  my  child,  if  only  you  are  true  and 
faithful.' 

"  And  the  child  turned  away  and  went  back 
under  the  stars,  that  were  like  eyes  of  angels 
watching  him,  back  from  the  golden  gates  to 
his  home  in  the  world.  And  as  he  went  a 
golden  ray  shot  once  across  his  path,  and 
brought  a  sound  of  wonderful  music,  such  as  he 
had  never  heard.  And  he  knew  that  the  golden 
gates  had  opened,  and  his  sister  had  passed  in. 
On  a  little  bed  at  home  lay  her  body,  white  and 
still,  but  he  knew  that  it  was  only  the  dress  she 
had  worn  in  tlie  world.  And  the  child  was 
comforted." 

And  Beppo  was  comforted  too.  As  the 
vicar  spoke,  he  imagined  a  country  more 
beautiful  than  his  own  Italy,  where  golden 
oranges  hang  in  the  dark-green  leaves,  and  the 
wonderful  blue  sea  sleeps  under  the  blue  sky, 
but  where  people  are  sick  and  sorrowful  as  they 
are  everywhere  in  the  world.  His  dear  mother 
would  go  to  that  wonderful  place,  so  beautiful 
that  even  this   wise  gentleman   could  not  tell 


128  MIXED  PICKLES. 

him  exactly  what  it  was  like.  She  would  never 
cough,  nor  be  tired  nor  hungry  again  ! 

But  the  bells  began  to  ring  for  service. 

"  Come,  Beppo,  I  will  take  you  home,"  said 
Mr.  Joyce ;  and  Bryda  said  good-by  to  both, 
and  went  slowly  home  along  the  shrubbery 
path. 

This  has  been  a  sad  chapter;  but  you  see 
there  are  sad  parts  even  in  the  lives  of  children  ; 
and  if  Bryda  was  not  in  quite  such  wild  spirits 
as  usual,  she  certainly  did  not  feel  unhappy  that 
evening,  when,  sitting  by  Cousin  Salome's 
couch,  she  told  her  all  that  had  happened. 

^^  Don't  you  think,"  said  kind  Salome,  "  that 
if  you  were  to  bring  Beppo  hei-e  in  the  afternoon, 
Bryda,  you  and  I  could  teach  him  a  little  about 
a  better  Friend  than  his  angel  in  the  window, 
a  Friend  Who  can  and  will  help  him,  and  Who 
will  never  die  and  leave  him,  never  change  and 
forget  him?" 

And  Bryda  very  gladly  promised  to  bring 
Beppo  next  day. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  129 


CHAPTER  XL 

DREADFULLY    FRIGHTENED. 

"  Miss  Bryda,"  said  Uncle  Jack  at  breakfast 
next  morning,  "if  you  knew  what  I  know  you 
would  be  a  good  deal  wiser  than  you  are  now." 

^'  I  dare  say  I  should,  Uncle  Jack,"  answered 
Bryda,  pouting.  *^I  suppose  you  mean  if  I 
knew  all  the  dates  of  all  the  Norman  kings,  and 
could  speak  French  without  any  mistakes,  and 
— and — several  other  things." 

"  Such  as  how  many  beans  make  five  ?  and 
that  useful  kind  of  thing  to  know,  I  suppose? 
But  if  I  were  a  little  girl,  and  any  one  told  me 
the  very  nice  piece  of  news  which  I  think  I  had 
better  not  tell  you^  why,  I  should  really  and 
truly,  I  do  believe,  be  obliged  to  get  up  and 
give  tbe  person  a  kiss.  Especially  if  he  was 
young  and  very  handsome  !"  added  Uncle  Jack, 
twirling  his  mustache,  and  looking  very  seriously 
at  his  niece. 


130  MIXED  PICKLES. 

Evidently  the  only  chance  of  getting  this 
news  was  to  get  up  and  give  him  a  kiss,  which 
Bryda  did,  and  both  she  and  Uncle  Jack  were 
promptly  scolded  by  grandmother,  w^ho  said 
that  in  her  young  days  she  used  to  sit  still  at 
breakfast  till  every  one  had  finished. 

Uncle  Jack  begged  her  pardon  at  once,  very 
politely  indeed,  and  then  told  Bryda  his  piece 
of  news. 

"  I  know  a  field,  a  very  little  way  off,  where 
there  is  a  hedge  simply  crawling  with  black- 
berries." 

Giandmother  was  a  little  deaf,  so  she  did  not 
hear  what  he  said  quite  rightly,  and  with  a 
little  scream  she  said  : 

"Crawling  with  black  beetles!  Oh,  John! 
for  pity's  sake  have  them  all  killed  at  once  !" 

^^I  will,  mother,  dear,  and  they  shall  be  made 
into  jelly  for  your  dinner,"  said  Uncle  Jack, 
laughing. 

But  the  dear  old  lady  grew  quite  excited 
about  the  black  beetles,  and  he  had  with  some 
trouble  to  explain  that  a  hedge  crawling  with 
blackberries  was  a  way  of  speaking  that  he  had 


MIXED   PICKLES*  131 

invented  to  make  Biyda  laugh.  "  She  so  seldom 
does  laugh,  poor  child  !"  he  said. 

Well,  Uncle  Jack  was  going  to  shoot  this 
morning,  and  he  would  take  Bryda  to  the  black- 
berry hedge,  and  leave  her  there  till  he  came 
back  again. 

So  he  did ;  and  Bryda,  as  she  marched  off 
with  a  big  basket  on  her  arm,  beside  Uncle 
Jack  with  a  gun,  made  a  little  request. 

"  Might  Beppo  come  and  help  her  ?  It  would 
be  a  very  little  round  to  pass  old  Roger's  cot- 
tage, Bryda  would  like  it  so." 

*^  Why,  what  a  little  coax  it  is !"  said  Uncle 
Jack;  "and,  j)ray,  who  is  Beppo?" 

Bryda  soon  explained,  telling  Uncle  Jack  all 
about  the  little  boy  who  so  much  interested  her 
and  his  poor  mother. 

"And  he's  such  a  nice  boy,"  she  ended.  "  He 
has  curly  hair,  and  big  black  eyes,  and  speaks 
such  very  funny  English." 

"  He  must  be  a  nice  little  boy  with  all  those 
charms  !"  laughed  Uncle  Jack.  And  to  Roger's 
cottage  they  went. 

Roger  was  at  home,  and  so  was  his  cat.    Uncle 


132  MIXED  PICKLES. 

Jack  began  to  talk  to  the  old  man.  Bryda, 
after  looking  round  for  Beppo,  seized  the  cat, 
and  sat  down  on  a  stool  to  pretend  it  was  a 
baby,  and  put  it  to  sleep,  with  her  eyes  con- 
tinually fixed  on  the  door  of  the  Italian  woman's 
room. 

Into  this  room  Uncle  Jack  went  presently, 
and  Bryda  was  left  alone  with  Roger.  Now 
was  the  time  to  ask  him  about  Liz  and  his 
palace  home,  and  if  he  was  not  sorry  Liz  had 
died  before  he  could  go  there. 

"  Koger,"  she  asked,  not  quite  knowing  how 
to  begin,  "  when  did  you  say  you  were  going 
home  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  I've  finished  the  bit  o'  work  I've 
had  set  me  here,  missy.  Maybe  if  I'd  made 
fewer  mistakes  over  it  I'd  be  there  by  now. 
It's,  oh !  my  clumsy  hands,  never  fit  to  touch  it 
at  all!" 

"Do  you  mean  your  carpentering?"  asked 
Bryda,  wondering. 

"  Not  quite  that,  Miss  Bryda,"  answered  the 
old  man,  looking  away  througli  the  little  win- 
dow.    "  It's  weaving  work  more  than  carpenter 


Biyda  after  looking  round  for  Beppo,  seized  the  cat.— Page  133, 


MIXED   PICKLES.  133 

ing  work,  making  a  bit  of  the  Bride's  beautiful 
marriage  dress.  There's  a-many  weavers  set  to 
that  work,  missy — ay,  many  they  are!  And 
some  waste  the  materials  and  do  naught;  an' 
some  put  gold  and  silver  thread  into  the  pattern 
anyhow,  an'  it's  all  mixed  and  spoiled.  But 
there's  some  good  workers  weave  the  bright 
threads  and  the  dull  threads  as  they  were  meant 
to  be,  and  work  real  pearls  on  it,  and  seldom 
make  a  fault.  That's  how^  my  Liz  worked;  but 
I've  been  a  clumsy  one — ah,  sad  and  clumsy  old 
Roger's  been  all  his  life!" 

"When  will  the  weddifig  be,  Roger,  and 
where?     Is  it  to  be  in  the  old  church  here?" 

Roger  shook  his  head. 

^'  When  w^ill  the  dress  be  finished,  missy,  the 
Bride's  beautiful  dress  that's  so  long  a-makin'  ? 
An'  where  will " 

Here  Roger  w^ns  interrupted,  much  to  Bryda's 
grief,  for  Uncle  Jack  came  out  of  the  sick-room, 
looking^  much  less  cheerful  than  when  he  went 
in,  and  leading  Beppo  by  the  hand.  He  spoke 
in  a  low  tone  to  Roger,  to  whom  Bryda  saw  him 
give  money,  and  wondered  why  he  should,  when 


134  MIXED  PICKLES. 

the  old  man  was,  she  believed,  so  rich  already. 
Then  beckoning  to  Bryda,  he  left  the  cottage. 

"Now,  Beppo,  you  shall  go  and  play  with 
this  young  lady.  Will  you  be  very  good  V'  he 
asked,  outside. 

"  Oh,  si,  si !  I  mean  say,  yes,  sir !"  answered 
the  little  Italian,  looking  brightly  at  Brjda, 
who  seemed  to  him  now  quite  an  old  friend,  and 
speaking  his  queer  English. 

So  Uncle  Jack  led  them  both  into  his  black- 
berry field,  which  was  quite  as  good  as  he  had 
said. 

"It's  simply  beautiful!"  Bryda  said  to  Uncle 
Jack  as  he  went  away,  promising  to  return  by 
and  by  and  fetch  them. 

Left  alone,  the  two  children  were  happy 
enough,  and  their  tongues  wagged  very  fast  in- 
deed. Beppo  told  his  little  companion  about 
his  own  country,  where  oranges,  hanging  on 
dark-green  trees,  might  be  had  for  the  trouble 
of  gathering;  and  about  beautiful  vineyards, 
with  clusters  of  white  and  purple  grapes,  and 
the  merry,  merry  vintage-time.  Ah !  if  they 
could  go  back  to  Italy  again,  he  was  sure  his 


MIXED   PICKLES.  135 

dear,  dear  mother  would  be  quite  well  again  ! 
His  father  was  dead,  and  the  mother  grew 
poorer  and  poorer  in  her  own  country,  and  at 
last  she  dreamed  night  after  night  that  if  she 
would  go  north  to  England  she  would  be  able 
to  get  money  for  herself  and  her  boy,  and  come 
home  quite  rich.  But  it  was  not  so ;  people 
did  not  seem  to  like  barrel-organs  much,  and 
the  little  money  his  mother  had  had  all  gone 
to  buy  this  instrument. 

Often  they  had  been  sent  from  houses  with 
angry  words  ;  often  they  had  nowhere  to  sleep ; 
often  they  had  nothing  to  eat. 

Bryda  had  never  known  real  hunger.  She 
had  known  how  pleasant  it  was  to  come  in 
tired  and  hungry  after  a  long  expedition,  and 
how  delicious  bread  and  butter  tasted  then, 
and  jam !  but  to  ache  with  hunger,  and,  when 
ready  to  faint,  not  to  have  any  food,  how  ter- 
rible that  must  be ! 

But  very  soon  both  Bryda  and  Beppo  forgot 
that  there  ever  had  been  any  troubles  in  the 
world,  they  were  so  busy  and  so  happy  with 
the  blackberries. 


136  MIXED   PICKLES. 

What  a  delightful  amusement  blackbeny 
hunting  is  !  To  see  the  basket  filling  fast  with 
the  fat,  sweet,  well-flavored  berries ;  to  eat  one 
after  another,  because  this  one  is  crushed  or 
that  one  is  too  nice  to  part  with,  or  a  third  may 
have  a  different  flavor  since  it  grows  on  another 
bush — l]0\v  nice  it  is !  We  eat,  and  chatter, 
and  eat  again,  till  Angers  and  mouths  are  stained 
a  dark-red  color;  and  how  we  laugh  and  make 
fun !  Only  one  thing  vexes  us — that  is,  that 
the  very  nicest,  finest  fellows  always  will  grow 
right  up  at  the  top  of  the  hedge,  just  out  of 
reach  even  of  our  longest  stick !  They  would 
be  so  nice  ;  but  very  often,  after  struggling  a 
good  deal,  scratching  faces  and  hands,  and  get- 
ting wet  feet  by  slipping  into  the  ditch,  we 
have  to  give  it  up  and  own  ourselves  beaten. 

Never  mind  !  we  have  geneially  quite  enough 
for  the  jam  or  the  puddings  we  want  to  make, 
and  in  great  triumph  we  go  home,  each  boast- 
ing of  having  gathered  most ! 

So  Bryda  and  Beppo  amused  themselves,  and 
wandered  on  at  last  to  the  other  end  of  the 
field.     Here  there  was  a  gate  leading  into  an- 


Bryda  and  Beppo  amused  themselves  wandering  about  the  field.— Page  136 


MIXED  PICKLES.  137 

other  field,  where  was  a  very  high  hedge  with 
what  seemed  to  the  children  the  best  black- 
berries they  had  seen. 

In  a  moment  they  were  through  the  bars  of 
the  high  gate  and  in  the  field.  Just  as  they 
entered  it  a  loud  shout  came  from  before  them ; 
and  Bryda,  looking  across  the  field,  saw  the  ter- 
rible Moll  Dawson  waving  her  hands  and  shout- 
ing to  them. 

Terrified,  she  caught  Beppo's  hand,  and 
dragged  him  further  into  the  field.  On  the 
side  where  the  blackberries  were  there  were 
also  some  trees,  and  beyond  was  a  little  wood. 
They  might  hide  in  this,  and  be  safe.  If  Moll 
Dawson  found  them  what  would  she  not  do  ? 
She  might  take  all  their  blackberries.  She 
might  ill-treat  them  in  some  dreadful  way.  She 
was  so  big  and  strong,  and  there  was  no  help 
near.     What  misrlit  she  not  do  ? 


'&' 


So  Bryda  and  her  companion,  poor  Bepp 


who  was  frightened  because  she  was  frightened 
— though  he  did  not  in  the  least  know  why — 
these  two  fled  further  into  the  field,  while  Moll 
Dawson  still  beckoned  and  called. 


L38  MIXED  PICKLES. 

Bryda,  seeing  that  the  girl  did  not  come  into 
the  field,  took  courage  a  little,  and  looked  about 
her.  Oh,  terror  !  if  she  was  fiightened  before, 
she  was  now  as  if  rooted  to  the  ground  with 
fear. 

Sullenly  coming  toward  the  poor  children, 
sniffing  violently  as  he  came,  and  glaring  at 
them  with  wicked  eyes,  was  an  immense 
bull ! 

"Run,  Beppo!"  screamed  Bryda.  Beppo 
looked  at  her  a  moment.  "  Run !  I  am  coming  !" 
she  cried  ;  and  Beppo  was  off  like  the  wind 
toward  the  gate  where  Moll  Dawson  beck- 
oned. 

Bryda,  looking  round  a  moment,  saw  a  great 
board,  with  "  Beware  of  the  Bull  !"  nailed 
against  a  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  field. 

Only  for  a  moment  she  looked.  Was  there 
any  hope  of  her  being  able  to  climb  a  tree  ? 
Which  gate  was  nearest  ?  The  dreadful  animal 
was  some  little  way  off.  If  Bryda  ran  with 
Beppo  she  might  escape.  In  a  second  she  was 
off  ;  but,  alas !  alas  !  the  bull  was  after  her, 

lie  came  on  bellowing  and  roaring. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  139 

Beppo  was  safe.  He  reached  the  gate  before 
Bryda  ;  but  she,  rushing  half-blind  with  terror, 
tripped  as  the  fierce  animal  was  close  behind 
her,  and  with  a  wild  shriek  fell  flat  on  her 
face  a  yard  or  two  from  the  gate. 


140  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SOME    USE    FOR   MOLL. 

Flat  on  your  face,  and  a  raging  bull  coming 
after  you  !  That  is  a  terrible  position  !  It  is 
never  wise  to  run  r^ices  with  a  bull,  or  a  horse, 
or  a  greyhound,  or  anything  else  that  has  four 
legs — except,  perhaps,  a  very  fat  prize  pig,  or 
the  kitchen  table.  What  can  you,  with  two 
legs,  do  against  four  legs? 

Besides,  poor  Bryda  felt  that  there  was  no 
one  to  help  her ;  there  was  only  Moll  Dawson 
near,  of  whom  she  was  nearly  as  much  afraid 
as  she  was  of  the  bull;  and  poor  little  helpless 
Beppo,  whose  eyes  grew,  like  those  of  the  dog 
in  the  fairy  tale,  as  big  as  saucers  with  terror, 
as  he  stood,  panting  but  safe,  on  the  right  side 
of  the  gate. 

Stay !  there  was  one  Friend,  to  whom  Bryda 
had  long  ago  learned  at  her  mother's  knee  to 


MIXED  PICKLES.  l4l 

look  for  help.  She  had,  indeed,  never  been  in 
any  such  danger  before,  but  mother  hady  and 
many  a  time  she  had  told  Bryda  of  the  time  of 
peril  when  the  ship  was  said  to  be  about  to  go 
down  on  the  broad  Atlantic,  and  no  help  was 
near — no  human  help,  at  least.  And  the  chap- 
lain gathered  together  all  who  could  or  would 
come,  and  cried  to  Him  Who  holds  the  seas  in 
the  hollow  of  His  hand. 

"  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death :  of 
whom  may  we  seek  for  succor,  but  of  Thee, 
O  Lord  ?  .  .  .  Thou  knowest,  Lord,  the  secrets 
of  our  hearts ;  shut  not  Thy  merciful  ears  unto 
our  prayer ;  but  spare  us,  Lord  most  holy,  O 
Grod  most  mighty,  O  holy  and  merciful 
Saviour !" 

So  the  chaplain  prayed,  and  the  sea  went 
down,  a&  once  did  the  waves  of  Galilee  when 
the  Lord  of  winds  and  waves  willed  it,  and 
mother  and  all  the  shipload  were  saved.  And 
so  Bryda  cried  to  the  loving  Saviour  as  she  fell, 
and  to  her,  too,  came  help  in  the  way  she  least 
expected.  For  as  the  bull  with  angry  red  eyes 
and   dreadful  sharp  horns  had  nearly  reached 


142  MIXED  PICKLES. 

her,  when  all  hope  seemed  gone,  and  she  had 
not  strength  to  try  and  rise,  a  shawl  deftly 
thrown  fell  right  over  the  furious  animal's  head, 
making  him  stop  and  then  turn  round,  bellow- 
ing frantically,  as  if  he  meant  to  ask  who  dared 
to  interfere  in  this  way  with  his  great  will  and 
pleasure,  which  was  to  toss  an  insignificant 
child.  There  were  plenty  of  children  in  the 
world,  pray  why  should  he  not  toss  one  if  he  so 
pleased  ?  he  seemed  to  ask. 

While  his  majesty  was  expressing  something 
of  this  sort  very  noisily,  a  strong  hand  rather 
roughly  seized  the  fallen  Bryda,  picked  her  up, 
and  dragged  her  over  or  through — she  never 
knew  which  —  the  great,  strong,  five-barred 
gate,  w^here  Beppo  stood  already,  and  watched, 
white  with  terror,  having  had  time  to  take 
breath. 

Bryda  was  not  white,  she  was  red-hot 
and  breathless,  and  it  was  several  seconds  be- 
fore she  could  collect  her  scattered  wits  enough 
to  see  the  bull  tearing  the  shawl  to  pieces,  with 
a  strong  wall  and  gate  between  himself  and 
her,  and  also  to  see  that  her  preserver  was  no 


MIXED  PICKLES.  143 

other  ttan  that  great  object  of  her  terror,  Moll 
Dawson. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Moll  roughly,  as  she  tried 
to  pinch  Bryda's  hat  into  shape  again.  "  You're 
a  foolish  one,  you  are.  Why  didn't,  you  stop 
when  you  heard  me  screechin'  ?" 

"Because — I — because — ^"  stammered  Biyda, 
who  felt  she  could  not  tell  Moll  that  the 
"screechin'"  had  made  her  run  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible in  the  other  direction  from  that  Moll 
intended. 

The  girl  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "  You're  a 
softy,  upon  my  word  !  So  you  thought  I'd  eat 
yer  blackberries  and  yer  blessed  selves  arter 
them !  But  it  was  out  of  the  fryin'-pan  into 
the  fire  this  time,  and  no  mistake.  Oh,  I  see 
ye  blushing !  Tell  Moll  Dawson  no  stories ; 
she's  too  'cute  for  the  likes  o'  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  tell  stories,"  said  poor  Bryda, 
with  teats  in  her  eyes.  "  Indeed,  indeed  I  am 
grateful.  That  bull  would  have  torn  me  to 
pieces,  as  he  is  tearing  your  shawl." 

And  Bryda  turned  quite  sick  at  the  sight  of 
the  great  brute  stamping  on  fragments  of  the 


J44  MIXED   PICKLES. 

shawl,  then,  tearing  tbem  afresh  with  his  horns, 
bellowing  all  the  time  as  if  it  was  quite  an 
amusement  to  destroy  something. 

"  I  shall  ask  grannie  to  give  me  a  new  shawl 
for  you,  Moll,"  said  Bryda. 

"  Don't  trouble  you#  head,  child ;  it's  only  a 
old  rag,  bless  you.  So  soon  as  I  can  earn  a  bit 
o'  money  I'll  have  a  jacket  wi'  beads  all  over, 
like  a  young  lady.  Not  as  that  they'll  take  me 
for  a  lady — not  even  the  boys  at  the  factory. 
Give  me  that  pretty  blue  silk  handkerchief  on 
your  neck,"  went  on  Moll,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone.  This  was  a  command  rather 
than  a  request,  to  judge  by  the  tone  in  which  it 
was  spoken;  but  Bryda  hesitated — mother 
had  given  it  to  her  just  before  she  went  away. 

The  girl,  seeing  she  hesitated,  laughed  again 
loud  and  bitterly — a  laugh  without  merriment. 

"  Oh  !  keep  your  things  to  yourself!  I  want 
none  of  them !  Silk  handkerchiefs  are  not  for 
the  likes  of  me,  nor  nothin'  else  that's  good — 
only  sharp  words  and  crooked  looks."  Here 
Moll  threw  herself  down  on  the  nearest  bank, 
and  tore  some  white  queen-daisies  to  bita 


MIXED   PICKLES. 


145 


"  Here, .  take  it,  Moll !"  said  Br;^da,  as  she 
snatclied  off  her  handkerchief.  "  I  am  sure  you 
are  welcome  to  it,  and  anything  else  I  have;" 
and  with  a  gentle  coaxing  way  she  tied  the 


scarf  round  Moll  Dawson's  neck.  The  rough 
girl  looked  more  gracious;  she  bent  her  neck 
to  try  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  this  bit  of  finery, 
then  looked  up  at  Bryda  again. 

'^  You've  got   a   gran,   too  !     I've   seen   her. 


146  MIXED   PICKLES. 

Does  she  beat  yon  very  often  ?"  was  her  next 
remark. 

Bryda  and  Bep[>o  both  stared  open-mouthed 
at  this  question.  Grandmother  wouhl  as  soon 
think  of 

"  Never !"  said  Bryda  at  last,  very  decidedly. 

"  1  suppose  she's  kind,  then  ?" 

Bryda  nodded  expressively. 

"  Well,  my  gran  ain't,"  pursued  poor  Moll. 
"Beats  us  with  the  poker,  for  all  she  pretended 
to  be  so  ill  and  weak  when  you  brought  soup 
o'  Sunday,  missy.  We're  a  bad  lot,  we  are,  all 
but  father ;  he'd  be  good  if  he  could,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  Moll !"  said  Bryda,  answering  the  girl's 
miserable  tone  as  much  as  her  words,  "why 
don't  you  try  and  be  good  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you're  good  ?"  said  the  girl ;  "  it 
is  not  hard  for  such  as  you  to  keep  straight." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not  good,"  cried  truthful 
Br^/da,  remembeiing  a  great  many  faults  at 
once.  "  I'm  so  often  in  mischief  or  some  trouble 
that  Uncle  Jack  says  I  live  in  a  jar  of  mixed 
pickles.  But  I  do  want  to  be  good  for  all 
that." 


MIXED   PICKLES.  147 

"  So  you  will  some  day,  when  you're  a  fine 
lady.  And,  I  warrant,  you're  not  real  bad  now. 
And  you'd  not  be  frightened  of  me  any  more  ?" 
added  Moll  sadly,  looking  up  at  her. 

"  No,  indeed ;  we'd  be  fond  of  you — wouldn't 
we,  Beppo  ?"  said  Bryda  eagerly. 

Beppo  nodded  and  said,  "  Yes,  yes."  He  was 
proud  of  his  knowledge  of  English,  such  as  it 
was. 

"  No  one's  fond  of  me,"  said  Moll,  still  more 
sadly.  "Jim  used  to  be  in  a  fashion,  but  he 
wouldn't  give  his  little  finger  to  save  me  from 
drowning.  An'  I'm  too  wicked  for  father  to 
love  me — or  any  one  else  either." 

Bryda's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  *^God  loves 
you,  Moll,"  she  whispered  gently. 

But  Moll  shook  her  head.  "  No,  He  don't. 
God  Almighty  may  care  for  the  gentlefolks — 
seems  like  it.  But  He  don't  care  for  such  as  us." 

"Indeed,  He  does,''  said  Bryda  earnestly, 
quite  sure  this  time  that  there  was  no  doubt  of 
what  she  said  being  true.  "See  how  he  has 
cared  for  Beppo  and  his  mother !" 

"  Did  He  tell  the  old  carpenter  to  be  good  to 


i48  MIXED   PICKLES. 

them  r  asked  Moll  tliougLtf iilly.  ''  Well,  it'a 
not  much  a  poor  man  like  him  can  do." 

"  Oh  !  he's  not  a  poor  man,"  burst  out  Bryda. 
'*He's  a  prince  really;  he  told  me  so.  And 
his  Father's  a  very  great  King,  and  will  take 
him  to  live  in  a  palace  some  day  soon." 

"  And  he  have  gold,  much  gold,  hid  safe  from 
de  tieves,"  added  Beppo  in  his  broken  English. 
He  and  Bryda  were  sitting  on  the  bank  now 
beside  Moll  Dawson. 

"  Eh  !"  said  Moll ;  "  whoever  would  have 
thought  it." 

"  It's  quite  true,"  said  Bryda,  and  went  on  to 
tell  all  about  Roger's  inheritance.  She  was  just 
going  on  to  tell  all  about  his  cat,  and  the  funny 
story  of  all  the  cats  with  excellent  "  characters," 
when  Uncle  Jack's  voice  was  heard  in  the 
blackberry  field  calling  her. 

At  this  sound  Moll  Dawson  sprang  up, 
nodded  a  hasty  farewell,  and  scrambled  through 
a  small  breach  in  the  hedge  behind,  vanishing 
in  a  moment,  in  spite  of  Br}'da's  entreaties  to 
her  to  stay,  and  let  Uncle  Jack  hear  how  she 
had  saved  them. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  149 

Uncle  Jack's  cheerful  brown  face  grew  very 
white  when  he  heard  the  story. 

"Say  nothing  to  the  grannies,  Bryda/'  he 
said.  "Not  because  it  is  right  to  have  secrets, 
little  maid ;  but  because  graiidnjother  is  too  old 
and  weak  to  hear  about  anything  that  would 
frighten  her.  But  you  and  I  will  see  what  we 
can  do  for  Moll  Dawson,  and  we  will  ask  Cousin 
Salome's  advice,  eh?" 

Poor  Moll  Dawson!  She  had  done  one  good 
deed  that  day.  It  was  a  pity  that  in  the  after- 
noon she  should  do,  though  not  intentionally, 
some  sad  harm. 

Her  brother  Jim  worked  as  garden-boy  with 
Mr.  Seymour  (that  was  the  name  of  Bryda's 
grandfather).  Moll,  roaming  idly  about,  met 
him  as  he  came  from  work  in  the  evening,  and 
in  her  careless,  gossiping  way  began  to  tell  him 
all  that  Bryda  had  said  about  old  Roger's  store 
of  treasure,  which  Moll  said  was  money  he  had 
hidden  away  somewhere  in  his  poor  little  cot- 
tage, like  a  misen 

For  Bryda  did  not  yet  understand,  what  is 
perhaps  plain  to  any  one  reading  this,  that  the 


150  MIXED  PICKLES. 

old  man,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  live  alone, 
thought  so  much  of  the  heavenly  country  where 
he  hoped  to  go,  and  of  the  many  mansions  in 
the  Father's  house,  that  he  talked  of  them  in  a 
way  that  seemed  to  the  child  to  mean  things  on 
earth.  So  the  precious  treasure  of  the  love  of 
Christ,  and  of  the  hope  that  is  in  Hi  in,  seemed  to 
little  Bryda  to  be  perishing  treasures  of  earth — 
money  and  jewels.  And  what  Bryda  had  told 
Moll,  Moll  repeated,  with  improvements  of  her 
own,  to  her  bad  brother. 

"  Ah  !  ah !"  said  Jim ;  "  he's  a  chicken  worth 
plucking — eh,  Moll  ?  A  knock  on  the  old  boy's 
head,  if  he  objects,  and  then  share  and  share 
alike  for  you  and  me." 

"You  leave  him  alone,  Jim,"  she  answered; 
for  the  longing  to  be  better  was  working  in  the 
poor  girl's  darkened  mind,  even  as  the  spint  of 
God  rested  on  the  earth  when  it  was  "  without 
form  and  void."  Christ,  who  died  for  poor 
Moll,  was  calling  gently,  and  the  hard  heart 
softened  a  little. 

"Boo,"  said  Jim,  with  a  hideous  grimace. 
"You're  afraid  o'  being  found  out.     Split  on 


MIXED  PICKLES.  .  151 

me  and  tell  the  police,  will  you  ?  Yah,  that's 
like  a  woman." 

"  I'll  not  have  it,  Jim,"  went  on  Moll  steadily. 
"  I'm  not  afraid,  that  you  know  right  well :  I'm 
a  better  thief  than  you  by  a  long  way,  and 
never  was  caught  yet ;  but  I'll  have  naught  to 
do  with  this — nor  you  either." 

*•  We'll  see,"  said  Jim,  and  held  his  tongue. 


152  •  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MORE     ABOUT     BEPPO. 

Bryda  was  not  allowed  to  go  alone  to  the 
village  again,  since  her  nurse  had  told  granny 
she  was  missing  on  that  unfortunate  Sunday 
afternoon,  when  the  whole  household  had 
turned  out  in  pursuit  of  her.  She  Lad  there- 
fore promised  Beppo  to  meet  him  in  the  church 
or  churchyard  at  half-past  five,  and  take  him 
to  Cousin  Salome. 

For  the  second  time  she  found  the  poor  little 
Italian  in  bitter  grief.  It  happened  that  a 
great  dai'k  bank  of  clouds  had  covered  llio  sky 
for  a  great  part  of  the  day,  and  the  churcli 
inside  was  so  dark  that  the  sexton  thought  it 
well  to  light  up  the  building  before  the  short 
service,  which  was  every  evening  dunng  sum- 
mer at  six,  and  in  winter  much  earlier. 

T'o-night   the   choir   were   practicing   ])efore 


MIXED  PICKLES.  153 

service,  so  when  Beppo  came  to  the  church  at 
half-past  five,  to  meet  his  little  friend,  the  build- 
ing was  lighted  up.  He  came  to  see  his  beau- 
tiful angel  again  to  tell  her,  whom  he  still 
thought  a  great  and  powerful  friend,  all  that 
had  happened  to  him.  But  with  the  darkness 
outside  and  the  bright  lights  within,  all  the 
colors  had  faded  out  of  the  window,  so  that,  aa 
any  one  who  goes  into  a  lighted  church  by  night 
can  see,  there  was  only  a  dark  blank  space 
where  the  beautiful  angel  had  stood.  And 
the  passionate  little  southern  boy  said  to  him 
self  that  his  friend  had  forsaken  him,  that  sh( 
was  gone  and  would  never  come  back  again. 

Bryda  felt  that  somehow  he  was  quite  wrong, 
but  how  was  she  to  explain,  or  to  comfort  him  ? 

First  she  told  him  his  angel  was  not  gone, 
but  had  only  faded  from  his  sight,  and  that 
with  daylight  he  would  find  her  again.  But  aa 
at  this  he  only  sobbed  afresh,  and  said  she  wm 
gone,  he  could  not  see  her,  so  she  must  be 
gone,  Bryda  tried  to  explain  that  his  friend  was 
no  real  person  but  only  a  beautiful  picture. 
This  only  made  him  very  indignant ;  he  knew 


154  MIXED  PICKLES. 

angels  took  care  of  people,  bis  mother  had 
often  told  him  so ;  did  Bryda  mean  to  tell  him 
there  were  no  angels  ? 

Then  Bryda,  not  knowing  how  to  meet  these 
questions,  proposed  that  he  should  come  with 
her  at  once  to  Cousin  Salome;  and,  hand  in 
hand,  the  two  children  went  up  the  long  shrub- 
bery walk  to  find  her. 

Salome  greeted  them  with  her  own  bright 
smile,  and  made  Beppo  sit  on  a  low  stool  by 
her  side.  Soon  the  black  eyes  grew  very  bright 
and  round,  when  the  child  found  that  this  Eng- 
lish lady  had  seen  his  own  beautiful  Italy,  and 
seemed  to  love  it  nearly  as  well  as  he  did. 

Then,  when  Cousin  Salome  began  to  speak 
to  him  in  Italian,  Beppo  fairly  jumped  off  his 
etool  and  clapped  nis  hands  with  delight. 

Here  was  a  frit^nd  for  him  !  Until  one  has 
gone  to  a  strange  country  and  there  been  very 
lonely  and  sorrov'/ful,  like  poor  little  Beppo,  it 
is  not  easy  to  understand  the  delight  that  he 
felt  at  hearing  his  own  language  spoken  again. 

After  a  little  time  Bryda  began  to  tell 
Cousin  Salome  all  about  Beppo's  troubles,  and 


MIXED  PICKLES.  155 

especially  the  last,  whicli  seemed  to  the  poor 
little  boy  a  very  great  one. 

"  No,  Beppo,  your  beautiful  angel  is  not 
gone,"  she  answered,  "  she  is  only  hidden  fro^n 
you  for  a  time  by  the  darkness.  But  I  will 
tell  you  both,  dear  children,  what  this  little 
grief  of  Beppo's  is  like  ;  and  we  can  make  it  i. 
sort  of  parable.  Bryda,  you  know  what  a 
parable  is  ?" 

"  A  story  that  means  something,  isn't  it  ?" 
said  Bryda. 

"  Yes,  dear.  Well,  when  we  are  young,  our 
life  is  like  a  bright  painted  window,  very  lovely 
to  look  at.  But  supposing  our  sky  gets  dark, 
and  some  great  trouble  comes  up  like  the 
night " 

"  Something  like  your  illness,  cousin  V  said 
Bryda  genlly. 

Cousin  Salome  smiled. 

"  Yes,  perhaps,  dear.  Or  like  Beppo's  great 
trouble,  when  his  mother  told  him  she  must  go 
and  be  with  God,  and  leave  him  alone.  That 
makes  life  seem  very  dark,  doesn't  it,  Bej^po  ?" 

Beppo  nodded  his  head;  he  could  not  speak, 


156  MIXED  PICKLES. 

because  a  great  lump  came  up  in  his  throat  and 
made  him  feel  as  if  he  must  choke. 

^'  Well,  when  the  night  is  over,"  went  on 
Salome,  "  and  the  kind,  bright  sun  comes  back 
again,  our  life  looks  beautiful  again.  But  what 
do  peoj)le  do  when  the  church  gets  dark, 
Beppo?" 

"  Light  de  lamps,"  said  Beppo  quickly. 

"Ah,  yes  !  that  is  it !  Light  the  lamps,  and 
then  we  forget  all  about  the  darkness  outside. 
Inside  there  is  warmth  and  lisrht  and  brio^ht- 
ness,  and  sweet  hymns  go  up  to  the  Great 
White  Throne  of  God.  And  life  is  beautiful 
after  all,  though  it  is  a  little  more  sad  and 
solemn,  as  Beppo  feels  it  now." 

Then  Cousin  Salome  went  on  to  talk  to 
Beppo  in  Italian  about  a  Fiieud  who  never 
would  forsake  him,  and  Who  was  always  near, 
though  the  dim  eyes  of  men  cannot  see  Ilim ; 
of  One  far  more  lovely  and  loving  than  the 
angels,  who  were  only  servants  in  that  great 
House  of  the  Father's,  in  which  heaven  and 
and  earth  are  contained.  Only  servants;  but 
He — this  Friend  Who  was  willing  to  be  always 


MIXED  PICKLES.  157 

Beppo's  friend,  if  the  child  would  look  to  Him 
and  trust  Him — He  was  the  Son  of  the  House, 
and  all  thino-s  were  His. 

Bryda  listened,  though  she  could  not  under- 
stand the  language;  and  as  she  listened  she 
thouo^ht  she  knew  the  use  of  lessons. 

"  Lessons  and  doses,"  she  had  said,  "  were 
supposed  to  do  people  good  f  and  now  she  saw, 
at  all  events,  one  use  of  lessons.  "  If  I  could 
talk  Italian  to  Beppo,  how  nice  it  would  be !" 

And  to  herself  she  resolved  that  when  the 
new  governess  came — it  was  to  be  very  soon 
now — she  would  ^vork  harder  than  ever  before, 
even  over  lists  of  dates.  After  all  she  might 
find  out  some  day  that  there  was  a  use  for 
those,  too ! 

Beppo  listened  as  to  one  who  told  him  some 
strange  new  thing.  He  had  been  taught  by  his 
mother  much  about  ang^els  watchin^c  over  him 
with  beautiful  shining  wings ;  but  very  little, 
almost  nothing,  about  the  loving  Saviour  Who 
was  once  a  little  boy  like  himself,  and  Who 
grew  up  to  be  the  Friend  and  Helper  of  any 
one  who  was  in  distress,  and  to  Whom  the  little 


158  MIXED  PICKLES. 

troubles  of  His  little  children  were  as  important 
as  the  great  and  bitter  griefs  that  crush  the 
hearts  of  men. 

Poor  little  boy !  he  drank  in  every  word, 
with  great  eyes  fixed  on  Cousin  Salome's  face, 
and  it  seemed  to  him,  as  it  had  seemed  to 
Bryda  while  she  listened  to  the  vicar's  sermon, 
that  there  never  could  be  anything  half  so 
sweet  as  trying  to  please  this  loving  Lord 
Jesus,  Who  was  such  a  kind  Friend. 

But  the  invalid  began  to  grow  tired,  and 
Bryda  saw  that  she  could  not  talk  much  longer. 
So  she  got  up  suddenly,  and  carried  oif  Beppo, 
and  Cousin  Salome  was  left  to  her  needful  rest. 

It  was  settled  first  of  all,  though,  that  Bryda 
should  give  Beppo  lessons  in  reading  every  day. 

'' Reading  and  weeding!"  said  Uncle  Jack. 
"  I  have  made  love  to  Hayes  the  gardener,  and 
he  has  promised  to  let  Beppo  come  and  weed  in 
the  garden;  and  so  the  little  chap  can  earn 
something,  and  not  feel  quite  such  a  burden  on 
old  Rosier." 

Beppo's  mother  was  not  to  be  long  a  burden 
on  any  one.    One  night,  while  Beppo  slept,  and 


<^. 


G 


y 


^....^, 


\^V^-v».  .I//*- 


\'/. 


u,^ 


.%Alv>»SC/^^ 


''-^~-^i. 


Only  one  word,  too — "  Speranza."— Pag« 


MIXED    PICKLES.  159 

while  it  seemed  that  she  slept,  too,  old  Roger, 
stealing  in  on  tiptoe,  found  that  she  was  indeed 
asleep,  wrapped  in  that  last  long  sleep  which 
no  evil  dreams  disturb.  She  would  never  be 
hungry,  or  thirsty,  or  tired  again,  for  God  had 
taken  His  child,  who,  though  ignorant  enough, 
had  been  faithful  to  Him,  to  that  rest  of  which 
we  say,  ^'  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 

Close  by  that  grave,  with  the  one  word  "  Liz," 
they  made  another,  and  on  that  there  was  only 
one  word,  too — "  Speranza." 

Very  few  of  the  village  people  knew  what 
Cousin  Salome  told  Bryda,  that  the  beautiful 
name  of  the  poor  Italian  meant  "  Hope." 

Old  Roger  would  not  part  with  Beppo.  He 
was  a  lonesome  old  man,  he  said,  and  it  would 
be  a  charity  to  let  the  boy  stay  with  him. 
Beppo  could  weed  and  learn  to  read  for  the 
present,  and  as  soon  as  he  knew  the  language 
better  he  could  go  to  school  in  the  village. 
Every  one  was  well  pleased  with  the  plan,  for, 
though  some  of  the  village  people  thought  old 
Roger  rather  odd,  from  the  way  he  had  of  talk- 
ing al)out  heaven  as  if  it  were  quite  near,  and 


160  MIXED   PICKLES. 

of  Bible  people  as  if  they  were  still  alive,  yet  no 
one  doubted  his  goodness;  and  kind  Cousin 
Salome  promised  to  pay  for  Beppo's  schooling. 
So  it  seemed  that  the  poor  little  boy,  after  his 
long  wanderings,  would  have  a  happy  home  and 
kind  friends,  and  would  soon  forget  his  troubles. 
Bryda  was  at  first  very  patient  with  her 
pupil,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  was  not  stupid ; 
but  what  puzzled  her  most  was  that  it  did  not 
seem  natural  to  the  Italian  child  to  say  the 
English  words  as  she  did. 

Uncle  Jack,  coming  one  day  into  the  room 
where  these  lessons  Avere  going  on,  found  Beppo 
with  tearful  eyes,  while  Bryda  a[)peared  to  have 
at  that  moment  thrown  the  reading-book  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  where  it  lay  looking  like 
a  book  in  disgrace  in  the  corner,  gaping  wide 
open,  with  a  leaf  or  two  scattered  on  the  way, 
for  it  was  an  old  one. 

'^  What  is  this  noise  about  ?"  said  Uncle  Jack, 
with  a  face  of  amusement ;  "  what's  the  matter 
now  ?" 

"Beppo's  too  stupid,  Uncle  Jack — and  I — I 
lost  patience." 


Bryda  appeared  to  have  thrown  the  reading  book  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room.— Page  160. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  161 

'^  Lost,  a  valuable  temper,"  said  Uncle  Jack, 
with  a  serious  face  ;  "  at  least  I  mean  ^  Lost,  a 
good  temper,  of  no  value  to  any  one  but  the 
owner.  Is  very  cheerful,  and  marked  with  a 
capital  B.  The  finder,  if  poor,  shall  be  hand- 
somely rewarded  on  bringing  it  to ' " 

"  DonH,  Uncle  Jack  !"  Bryda  stood  on  tiptoe 
and  put  her  hands  over  his  mouth,  while  Beppo 
picked  up  the  book  and  put  in  the  scattered 
leaves.  "  But  really  I  can't  make  him  under- 
stand some  things.  He  spells  c-a-t,  and  then 
calls  it  ^  cart,'  and  when  at  last  I  get  him  to 
say  ^  cat,'  he  goes  on  m-a-t,  ^  mart !'  " 

"  I  suppose  Miss  Quillnib  never  had  any  such 
worries  in  teaching  Bryda  ?"  said  Uncle  Jack 
slyly.     Bryda  looked  a  little  ashamed. 

"  But  do  you  know  that  it  is  natural  to  him 
to  say  cart  and  mart  instead  of  cat  and  mat,  and 
you  will  have  to  teach  him  gradually  that 
English  does  not  sound  like  Italian,  Bryda? 
Now  suppose,  by  way  of  variety,  that  you  say 
this  simple  little  sentence  after  me : 

"^  Aldiborontiphoscophornio ! — where  left  you 
Chrononhotonthologos  V  " 


162  MIXED   PICKLES. 

''  *  Aldiboronti ' — I  don't  know  any  more  !" 

"  Ihat's  not  English,  Uncle  Jack  !" 

"  Well,  I  assure  you  it  comes  out  of  an  Eng 

lish  play.     So,  naturally,  the  actor  has  to  say  it. 

Try  something  easier : 

"Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickled  pepper; 
A  peck  of  pickled  pepper  Peter  Piper  picked. 
If  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickled  pepper, 
Where's  the  peck  of  pickled  pepper^Peter  Piper  picked?'' 

"  Which  of  us  three  will  say  that  very  fast 
three  times  without  a  mistake  ?" 

They  all  tried,  and  all  failed,  and  the  lesson 
ended  in  such  shouts  of  laughter  that  both  the 
grannies  hobbled  in — helping  each  other — to 
see  what  the  fun  was. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  163 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BEPPO     IN     TEOUBLE. 

A  FAR  worse  trouble  than  "  cat"  or  "  mat" 
came  to  poor  Beppo  a  few  days  afterward.  He 
worked  away  diligently  and  steadily  in  the 
garden  and  was  always  delighted  to  bring  home 
his  little  earnings — ^six  silver  shillings  every 
week — and  give  them  to  old  Roger.  Hayes, 
the  gardener,  was  kind  to  him,  and  so  was  every 
one,  except  Jim  Dawson,  who  also  worked  in 
the  garden. 

But  then,  Jim  Dawson  was  kind  to  no  one, 
not  even  to  his  sister  Moll,  for  whom  he  seemed 
to  have  a  sort  of  rough  affection.  Still,  Jim 
Dawson  did  his  work  well  enough  ;  he  was 
very  strong  and  got  through  a  good  deal,  if  he 
did  idle  sometimes  when  Hayes'  back  was 
turned.     So  Hayes  was  glad  to  have  him. 

Now  Hayes  had  a  peach  tree  of  which  he 


164  MIXED  PICKLES. 

was  particularly  proud.  It  was  like  his  child 
to  him,  for  he  had  grown  it  from  a  very  little 
thing,  and  had  watched  it  day  by  day  in  the 
spring,  when  its  beautiful  pink  buds  became 
pinky-white  flowers,  and  then  dropped,  and  gave 
way  to  little  hard  balls,  green  and  round,  that 
would  one  day  be  peaches.  He  had  taken  off 
some  of  these,  so  that  the  rest  might  be  finer, 
and  now  there  were  just  four  beautiful  velvet 
peaches  on  the  little  tree.  Such  beauties  they 
were !  and  soon  would  come  the  fruit-show  ; 
and  how  delightful  it  would  be  to  see  in  the 
county  paper  that  "  Mr.  Hayes,  head  gardener 
to  Mr.  Seymour,  had  the  first  prize  for  a 
splendid  dish  of  peaches  grown  out  of  doors  !" 

Every  morning  and  every  evening,  and  several 
times  in  the  day,  came  Mr.  Hayes  looking  after 
those  treasures  of  his. 

Can  you  fancy  what  Mr.  Hayes'  good-tem 
pered  face  looked  like  when  one  day,  about 
twelve  o'clock,  he  came  past,  having  already 
paid  '^his  babies"  a  visit  once  that  morning, 
and  found  only  three?  Only  three!  T!?'' 
finest  of  all  was  gone;   neatly  gathered  from 


MIXED  PICKLES.  165 

the  tree ;  so  that  there  could  be  no  sus- 
picion of  accident  in  the  matter.  It  was  too 
bad. 

Stooping  down,  Mr.  Hayes  carefully  examined 
the  ground  to  see  if  there  were  any  traces  of 
footsteps  by  which  he  could  discover  the  thief. 

In  one  or  two  places  the  ground  looked  a 
little  disturbed,  as  if  some  one  had  hastily 
covered  over  the  traces  of  steps  with  some  loose 
earth.  Certainly  a  cunning  thief  had  been  at 
work,  and  Mr.  Hayes'  rage  grew  more  and  more 
violent ;  but  his  rage  was  quite  useless.  Storm 
at  the  two  boys,  Jim  and  Beppo,  he  could,  and 
he  did ;  question  all  the  other  gardeners,  and 
the  grooms,  and  John  the  coachman,  and  the 
kitchenmaid,  and  the  laundrymaid,  and  the  girl 
who  fed  and  plucked  the  fowls ;  all  this  he  did, 
but  nothing  could  bring  back  his  peach,  and 
every  one  seemed  equally  innocent  in  the  matter. 
Mr.  Hayes  was  very  angry,  and  for  two  days  he 
remained  so,  spending  much  of  his  time  in 
walking  about  that  part  of  the  garden,  with  his 
sharp  eyes  very  wide  open,  and  a  thick  stick  in 
his  strong  hand. 


106  MIXED  PICKLES. 

AVoe  betide  the  unlucky  thief  who  had  gone 
near  the  peacli  tree  on  those  days  ! 

But  by  the  third  day  Mr.  Hayes'  wrath  had 
3ooled  a  little ;  besides,  he  had  very  good  news 
from  a  brother  in  Australia  by  the  noforning 
post;  and  so  on  that  day  he  took  a  look  at  the 
three  peaches  that  were  left,  and  then  went 
away  whistling  "  Rule  Britannia !"  It  was 
about  the  only  tune  he  knew,  and  he  whistled 
it  whenever  things  went  well. 

It  was  a  pity  that  a  dark  cloud  should  come 
up  again  that  day  over  the  sunny  landscape  of 
Mr.  Hayes'  broad  red  face;  but  it  is  a  fact  that, 
on  coming  again  to  visit  his  darlings,  he  found 
no  longer  three,  but  only  two ;  and  under  the 
brick  wall  were  again  traces  of  steps  carefully 
dusted  over  with  earth,  as  before. 

If  Mr.  Hayes  had  been  angry  before,  he  was 
now  simply  beside  himself  with  passion.  He 
did  not  storm,  neither  did  he  stamp  this  time — 
he  was  too  angry  for  that. 

Striding  along  the  garden  walk,  without  any 
distinct  idea  of  where  he  meant  to  go  or  wliat 
to  do,  Mr.  Hayes  encountered  Beppo,  who  rose 


MIXED  PICKLES.  167 

up  from  his  weeding,  and  looked  as  if  he  were 
about  to  speak.  But  the  child  shrank  from  the 
furious  face  that  looked  down  at  him — shrank 
away,  and  grew  pale  with  fear. 

Hayes  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment, 
then  spoke  fiercely,  though  quietly,  trying  to 
control  himself.  "  Well,  boy,  what  have  you 
to  say  for  yourself  ?"     * 

Guilt  was  clearly  painted  on  Beppo's  face, 
and  in  every  line  of  his  trembling  figure  as  he 
stammered  out.  "  P'ease — Mr.  Haye  —  I  —  so 
sorry.     Not — mean — do  it,  sir ! 

"  Not  mean  !"  answered  Hayes  in  a  voice  like 
suppressed  thunder.  "  Sorry  !  what  can  your 
sorrow  do,  I'd  like  to  know?  Do  you  know 
what  you  have  done  ?  mischief  that  can  never 
be  mended !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Beppo  humbly. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  No  excuse  !  You  little  foi'eign 
brat !  you  come  along  o'  me,  and  get  the  best 
thrashing  you  ever  had.    Come  on,  I  say  !" 

He  seized  Beppo  by  the  collar,  and  marching 
him  in  front,  strode  toward  the  garden  tool- 
house.     There  were  plenty  of  sticks  there  that 


168  MIXED  PICKLES. 

woiilcl  answer  his  purpose  of  severely  punishing 
the  wretched  little  criminn],  whose  cries,  more- 
over, would  attract  less  notice  there,  he  thought. 

Coming  toward  them,  the  angry  man  and  his 
prisoner  met  Bryda,  singing  merrily. 

Her  song  soon  stopped  when  she  saw  the 
poor  little  criminal  in  the  strong  grasp  of  Mr. 
Hayes  who  was  policeman,  judge,  jury,  lawyers, 
jailer,  and  executioner,  all  at  once. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  has  he  done  V 
she  gasped,  quite  frightened. 

Hayes  stopped. 

''Done!  The  little  varmint !"  giving  Beppo 
a  shake  as  he  held  him  still.  "Done,  Miss 
Bryda!  Will  he  dare  look  you  in  the  face 
again  ?  Stolen  my  peaches,  two  of  them,  one 
after  the  other  —  heartless,  greedy,  thankless 
little  monster  as  he  is !  Stolen  my  peaches  that 
I  hoped  would  get  the  prize — ay,  he  can't 
deny  it !" 

"I  not  stolen  them  !"  cried  Beppo,  in  bitter 
distress.  "Oh,  Miss  Bryde!  I  not — I  never 
done  that !  I  often  bad  boy — never  stole  ! 
Never!   No!   No!   No!" 


MIXED  PICKLES.  169 

Bryda  remembered  the  baker's  roll,  and  quite 
believed  him.  He  was  hungry  then,  but  he  did 
not  steal. 

"  Oh,  Hayes  !  Indeed,  indeed,  I  am  sure  he 
is  telling  the  truth  !"  she  said  earnestly.  "  Please 
don't  be  angry  with  him  till  you  are  quite  sure, 
at  least." 

^'  Lor',  Miss  Bryda,"  said  the  gardener  impa- 
tiently, "you're  that  taken  up  with  the  sly 
little  rascal  you  don't  believe  butter  would  melt 
in  his  mouth.  But  he  spoke  up  and  said  he 
was  sorry  when  I  taxed  him  with  it  first.  It's 
only  the  sight  of  you  makes  him  bold,  thinking 
you'll  take  his  part  through  thick  anil  thin.  A 
sneaking,  lying  little  thief !  Never  does  he  do 
another  day's  work  here  !" 

"Miss  Bryde,"  said  Beppo,  with  flashing  eyes 
in  which  there  were  no  tears,  "  I  not — I  never 
did — not  could — think  I — steal — tell  lies  !  1 
speak  de  truth  now,  and  then,  both,  only  I  did 
think  Mr.  Hayes  found  something  else,  and  1 
did  want  tell  him " 

Here  Jim  Dawson,  who  had  been  looking  on 
at  the  little  scene,  stepped  up  to  Beppo  sud- 


170  MIXED  PICKLES. 

denly,  slipped  his  hand  into  Beppo's  pocket, 
and  drew  out  a  peach-stone. 

Silence  fell  on  the  little  group.  Bryda,  dis- 
tie-^sed  beyond  words,  looked  from  one  to  the 
other.  Beppo,  with  a  strange  expression  of 
face;  looked  at  Jim,  who  stood  grinning;  and 
Hayes,  after  looking  at  the  stone  for  some  sec- 
onds, as  if  to  be  perfectly  certain  of  Beppo's 
crime,  pushed  his  hand  more  firmly  into  the 
boy's  collar,  strode  to  the  garden-house,  put  him 
in,  and  said,  before  he  closed  the  door,  "  Now, 
my  lad,  it's  for  your  good.  You  bWe  there  and 
think  of  the  flogging  you'll  get  so  soon  as  I've 
time  to  give  it  to  you." 

Locking  the  door  on  the  outside,  he  strode 
away,  with  the  key  in  his  pocket,  leaving  Beppo 
to  his  miserable  expectations  of  the  flogging 
that  he  would  get ;  no  light  punishment  it  would 
be  from  the  heavy  hand  of  an  angry  man. 

If  Beppo  was  guilty,  then  miserable  enough 
he  was  likely  to  be,  with  the  burdens  of  a  theft 
and  a  lie  on  his  mind,  and  the  prospect  of 
punishment  to  come. 

If,    as    he   said,    though    appearances    were 


MIXED  PICKLES.  171 

against  him,  he  was  innocent,  then  he  need  not 
be  very  miserable,  for  a  good  conscience  would 
be  his  companion,  and  the  Friend  of  little 
children  would  send  him  comfort. 

Crouching  down  in  a  wretched  little  heap  on 
the  floor,  he  remained  so  for  some  time,  not  cry- 
ing, not  trembling,  but  apparently  thinking. 
Then  slowly  rising,  he  knelt  down  in  a  corner^ 
.and,  clasping  his  hands,  looked  through  the 
little  window  up  to  the  blue  sky. 

He  need  not  look  to  any  beautiful  angel 
now,  whose  help  he  used  to  hope  for.  He  had 
another — better  Friend,  and  quietly  he  said, 
half  aloud,  "Kind  Lord  Jesus,  don't  forget 
Beppo.     I  in  great  trouble.  Lord  Jesus !" 

Was  he  guilty,  or  not  ?     We  shall  see. 


172  MIXED   PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

UP   A    TREE. 

What  did  Bryda  do  when  her  little  play- 
mate was  in  such  trouble  ?  Quite  as  miserable 
as  if  she  herself  were  the  criminal,  she  stood 
still  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  garden  path. 
Would  there  be  any  chance  of  coaxing  Hayes 
to  forgive  Beppo  ?  That  was  not  very  likely. 
Mr.  Hayes,  with  a  face  that  was  simply  one 
frown  all  over,  had  walked  off  in  the  other 
direction,  and  his  very  back  frowned  as  she 
looked  after  him.  No,  she  could  not  appease 
Hayes ;  but  some  one  else  might  persuade  him 
that  Boppo  was  not  guilty.  Who  could  do 
this?  Should  Bryda  go  indoors  and  tell  the 
grannies  all  about  it  ?  That  would  not  be  of 
much  use.  It  would  take  so  long  to  make  them 
understand  ;  and  perhaps  even  then  they  would 
not  wish  to  interfere.     Uncle  Jack?     He  had 


MIXED   PICKLES.  173 

gone  out.  Cousin  Salome  would  be  very  sorry ; 
but  she  could  not  come  out  and  talk  to  Hayes. 

There  was  old  Roger  ! 

Bryda  would  run  off  to  him  and  soon  get  him 
to  come  up  with  her  and  talk  to  the  angry 
Hayes.  But  she  must  be  quick;  she  did  not 
know  how  soon  Hayes  might  carry  out  his 
threat  of  coming  back  to  punish  the  poor  little 
prisoner^ 

Bryda  firmly  believed  he  was  innocent.  She 
did  not  understand  why  Mr.  Hayes  said  he  had 
confessed  to  having  stolen  the  peaches ;  if  he 
had  done  so  she  was  sure  it  was  from  fright. 

"  And  I  am  sure  Hayes'  face  was  enough  to 
frighten  any  one,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Without  stopping  to  think  any  more,  off 
Bryda  ran  to  the  village,  as  fast  as  her  feet 
could  carry  her. 

She  did  not  go  by  the  shrubbery  walk,  but 
down  the  lane  that  led  from  the  bottom  of  the 
garden  past  Farmer  Veitch's  houseo 

This  farm  was  about  halfwav  between  the 
garden  and  the  village,  and  Bryda,  out  of  breath, 
Avalked  slowly  as  she  passed  it.     To  her  great 


174 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


terror  she  heard  behind  tlie  hedge  a  low,  deep 
growl.  That  was  Farmer  Veitch's  bulldog,  and 
he  was  known  to  be  savage. 

Poor  Bryda  was  not  as  brave  as  she  used  to 


be,  since  her  adventure  with  the  bull,  and  this 
low  growl  made  her  start  violently.  Well,  if 
the  gate  was  only  shut  the  bulldog  might  growl 
on  till  to-morrow  behind  it,  and  she  would  be 
quite  safe. 

But  no,  the  gate  was  open  just  a  little  way — 


MIXED  PICKLES.  175 

quite  enough  to  let  a  bulldog  through — even  a 
pretty  big  one,  as  this  was;  and  in  another 
moment  the  animal  was  at  Bryda's  heels, 
sniffing  at  her,  and  still  growling  in  a  horrid, 
savage  way  that  was  worse  than  a  torrent  of 
barks,  and  showing  those  white  teeth  of  his 
that  could  give  such  dreadful  bites. 

Poor  Bryda's  courage  quite  gave  way.  To 
run  was  no  use,  the  dog  could  run  faster. 
Screaming  would  no  doubt  make  him  bite  her 
at  once,  instead  of  taking  his  time  about  it. 
It  was  as  bad  as  the  adventure  with  Paddy ; 
and  what  made  it  worse  was  that  Bryda  was 
strictly  forbidden  to  go  into  this  lane  at  all, 
because  there  had  been  some  infectious  illness 
at  Farmer  Veitch's.  A  huUdog  seemed  as  bad 
as  a  bull. 

Should  she  try  the  power  of  the  human 
eye  ?  She  had  heard  various  stories  of  people 
who  had  subdued  savage  dogs  by  simply 
gazing  at  them  fixedly  till  the  brute  nature 
quailed  before  the  human  intellects 

But  that  must  require  wonderful  courage; 
and  probably  it  would  not  answer  at  all  if  the 


176  MIXED  PICKLES. 

gazer  were  to  look  at  all  afraid.  And  poor 
little  Bryda  was  simply  terrified. 

At  this  moment  she  caught  sight  of  a  tree 
close  to  her  that  had  low  branches,  most  con- 
venient for  climbing.  Dogs  cannot  climb  trees, 
and  the  cats  know  it — ^just  as  cats  cannot  fly, 
and  the  birds  know  it,  and  act  accordingly. 

In  another  moment,  with  a  breathless  spring 
and  scramble  Bryda  was  up  in  the  tree.  The 
dog  sprang  at  her,  and  tore  a  large  piece  of  her 
frock,  but  she  was  unhurt ;  and  you  may  sup- 
pose she  felt  glad  that  there  was  only  a  bit 
of  stuif  in  the  sharp  white  teeth  instead  of  a 
bit  of  herself ! 

She  lost  a  shoe,  too,  in  the  scramble ;  and  the 
dog  scratched  it  and  snuffed  at  it.  Breathless, 
torn  as  to  garments,  with  one  shoeless  foot,  she 
climbed  up  a  little  higher,  so  as  to  be  quite 
safe,  and  looked  down  at  the  dog. 

Of  course  he  would  go  away  now  there  was 
no  chance  of  biting  her.  And  then  she  would 
jump  down  and  run  for  her  life  to  the  village. 
From  her  secure  height  she  grew  bold,  and 
spoke  valiantly  to  the  dog. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  177 

^'  Poor  fellow !  good  dog,  tlien  !  Go  home, 
sir  !     Go  to  kennel !     Home,  sir  !" 

The  dog  only  growled  the  more,  but  did  not 
go  away  at  all.  He  did  not  seem  to  care  to  go 
home.  Well,  then,  perhaps  he  would  like  to 
hunt  cats,  after  the  cruel  fashion  of  dogs? 

"Hunt!"  went  on  Bryda.  "  Good  boy  !  Cats! 
Puss,  puss!  Cats!  After  them!  catch  them, 
good  dog !" 

But  this  bulldog  was  a  strange  animal.  He 
did  not  seem  to  care  for  cats;  but  curled  him- 
self round  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  ls:e[)t  his 
eye  on  Bryda,  who  was  really  almost  as  much  a 
prisoner  as  Beppo. 

Really,  this  was  dreadful — when  Bryda  was 
in  such  a  hurry,  too  !  Perhaps  she  would  not 
be  in  time  to  save  Beppo.  Where  were  all  the 
people  of  the  farm  ?  She  would  call  loudly  to 
them:  "Mrs.  Veitch!  Farmer!" 

Directly  she  began  to  call,  the  dog  jumped 
up  barking,  and  sprang  at  her.  True,  he  could 
not  quite  reach  her,  but  he  came  dreadfully 
close,  and  his  barks  were  enough  to  drown  her 
calling. 


178  MIXED  PICKLES. 

By  and  by,  however,  the  farmhouse  door 
opened,  and  an  old  woman  looked  out.  She 
was  the  only  person  near,  for  it  was  harvest, 
and  all  the  men  were  busy,  and  all  the  women 
binding  sheaves  with  them.  Her  dim  eyes 
caught  sight  of  a  figure  in  the  tree,  and  when 
Bryda  called  again  to  her  she  laughed  and 
shook  her  fist. 

"  Ay,  ay  !"  she  said.  "Young  thieves  from 
the  village  arter  farmer's  apples  !  Well,  you 
bide  there  a  bit,  it'll  gie  ye  something  to 
remember." 

So  saying,  and  laughing  to  hei'self  over  this 
capital  punishment  for  apple-stealers,  she  went 
back  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door. 

So  there  was  Bryda,  like  Mahomet's  coffin, 
hung  between  the  sky  and  earth ;  and  there 
she  sat,  feeling  very  angry  with  the  old  woman, 
very  much  vexed  about  Beppo,  and  very  much 
afraid  of  the  dog. 

That  amiable  animal  made  himself  a  sentinel, 
and  declined  to  move.  No  scolding,  no  coaxing 
on  Bryda's  part,  had  any  effect.  There  he  was, 
and  there  he  meant  to  be;  and  Bryda  sat  on  a 


Bryda  called  to  the  old  woman,  who  laughed  and  shook  her  fist.— Page  178, 


MIXED   PICKLES.  179 

branch,  swinging  her  long  black  legs,  and  wish- 
ing she  had  wings,  so  that  she  might  fly  away 
from  all  her  present  troubles. 

She  might  have  been  rather  amused  but  for 
two  things  that  much  distressed  her.  One 
was  Beppo's  peril,  and  the  other  the  knowledge 
that  the  grannies  would  be  vexed  at  her  being 
in  the  lane  at  all,  when  she  had  for  such  a  good 
reason  been  forbidden  to  go  there. 

At  last  she  felt  so  downhearted  that  she  was 
very  much  inclined  to  cry,  but  that  she  would 
not  do,  because  the  horrible  dog  would  see  her, 
and  probably  he  would  feel  pleased.  So  there 
she  remained. 

"I  wonder  where  Bryda  is?"  said  grand- 
mother. She  had  been  waiting  ever  so  long  for 
her  knitting,  for  which  she  had  sent  her  grand- 
daughter to  the  garden. 

"  I  hope  she  is  not  in  mischief,"  said  Mr. 
Seymour. 

"Most  likely  she  forgot,"  said  Uncle  Jack, 
who  had  come  in  again.  "  I  will  go  to  the 
garden  and  look  for  the  little  puss." 

In  the  garden  he  did  not  see  Hayes,  but  met 


180  MIXED  PICKLES. 

Jim  Dawson,  and  asked  if  he  had  seen  Miss 
Bryda.  Jim  told  him  that  she  had  gone  down 
the  lane,  and  off  he  went  in  pursuit. 

You  may  suppose  Bryda  was  glad  to  hear  his 
firm  steps  on  the  hard  ground,  and  to  call  to 
him  as  he  came  down  the  lane  without  fear  of 
his  going  off  and  leaving  her. 

But  Uncle  Jack,  though  he  sent  the  dog  off 
and  helped  her  down,  suppressed  any  inclina- 
tion he  may  have  had  to  laugh,  and  asked  for 
grandmother's  knitting  very  gravely.  Nor  did 
he  seem  to  think  that  Beppo's  threatened  pun- 
ishment justified  her  disobedience. 

"  If  he  stole  the  fruit  he  deserved  to  be  pun- 
ished, and  you  ought  not  to  try  and  screen  him, 
Bryda.  You  may  be  sure  Hayes  would  be  care- 
ful not  to  punish  him  else.  He  has  boys  of 
his  own. 

So  Bryda,  very  downhearted,  walked  by  his 
side  back  to  the  house.  He  would  not  inter- 
fere, nor  let  her  go  on  to  Boger,  and  all  she 
could  do  was  to  fetch  the  knitting,  and  hope 
the  grannies  would  forgive  her  disobedience. 

Perhaps  the  reason  why  Bryda,  wuth  the  best 


MIXED   PICKLES.  181 

intentions,  got  into  trouble  when  she  least  ex- 
pected, was  because  she  did  not  stop  to  think, 
but  went  off  in  a  great  hurry  to  carry  out  her 
plans. 

By  the  time  she  reached  the  garden,  three 
quarters  of  an  hour,  or  perhaps  an  hour,  had 
passed.  She  went  straight  to  the  tool-house. 
Beppo  was  not  there.  She  called,  and  no  one 
answered;  the  gardeners  had  gone  to  their 
dinner,  so  Bryda,  rather  slowly  and  sadly,  went 
in  to  get  ready  for  her  own. 


182  MIXED  PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

POOR  moll! 

While  Bryda  was  running  wildly  down  the 
lane  Cousin  Salome  had  a  very  unusual  sort  of 
visitor.  An  untidy  girl,  who  had  taken  more 
time  to  put  ribbons  in  her  hair  than  to  brush  it, 
and  whose  necklace  of  glass  beads  matched  ill 
with  lier  unmended  frock,  stood  by  the  couch 
of  the  gentle  invalid.  It  had  taken  a  long  while 
for  Moll  Dawson  to  gather  courage  to  come  up 
to  the  house,  though  Cousin  Salome  had  sent 
many  messages  by  her  maid ;  but  here  she  was 
at  last,  looking  half-impudent,  half-bashful,  and 
altogether  uncomfortable,  till  Cousin  Salome 
gradually  melted  her  shyness  by  talking  about 
the  adventure  of  the  bull,  and  about  Bryda,  and 
Beppo,  and  various  other  things.  Then  gently 
she  began  to  talk  about  the  girl's  own  past  life, 
and  again  Moll  spoke  in  the  hard,  defiant  voice, 
which  told  how  truly  unhappy  she  was. 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


183 


"Did  you  ever  go  to  churcli?"  asked  Cousin 
Salome.  ^ 

"  Yes,  I  went  into  a  chnrch  once,"  said  Moll 
thoughtfully,  *^  an'  I  heard  a  preaehin',  and  the 


parson  talked  about  children  of  wrath,  and  the 
bad  place  waiting  for  'em." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can  read  and  write  after  a  fashion," 
she  went  on,  in  answ^er  to  Cousin  Salome's  ques- 
tions. "  I  went  to  school  only  half -time,  and 
worked  in  the  factory  the  other,  so  as  not  to 
have  too  much  school." 


184  MIXED   PICKLES. 

And  Moll  drew  herself  up,  and  laughed  and 
showed  her  white  teeth,  and  was,  to  all  appear- 
ance, quite  proud  of  being  so  naughty.  But  all 
the  same  she  gave  a  little  sigh  as  she  looked 
again  at  the  invalid's  white,  sweet  face,  and 
pitying  eyes. 

"I  reckon  youVe  always  been  good,"  she 
went  on  rapidly.  "It  isn't  hard  for  the  likes  of 
you  neither." 

She  looked  round  the  white,  quiet  room,  and 
Cousin  Salome  looked,  too,  and  she  sighed  a 
moment  before  she  smiled  again  with  a  happier 
thought.  Ah,  there  were  temptations  in  that 
still,  comfortable  room,  too.  Evil  spirits  would 
enter  even  there,  and  whisper  discontent,  and 
fretf Illness,  and  impatience  to  the  sufferer  who 
had  lain  there  so  long;  but  Salome  smiled  again, 
because  she  knew  that  the  promise  was  for  her 
and  for  poor  Moll,  "  When  thou  passest  through 
the  waters  I  am  with  thee." 

And  in  her  gentle,  low-toned  voice  slie  began 
to  tell  the  poor  ignorant  girl  of  that  good 
Shepherd  w^ho  gave  his  life  for  the  sheep. 

"  Even  for  me  !"  said  Moll,  at  last,  and  buried 


MIXED  PICKLES. 


185 


her  face  in  Iier  hands  and  sobbed.     It  seemed 
too  good  to  be  true. 

Cousin  Salome's  maid,  hearing  tlie  sobs,  came 
from  the  next  room,  fearing  that  the  invalid 
would  be  over-tired;  and,  by  way  of  making  a 


change  of  conversation,  began  to  tell  how  she 
had  been  in  the  garden,  of  Hayes'  wrath,  and 
Beppo's  punishment. 

"  And  no  wonder  he  should  turn  out  badly, 
ma'am,"  she  said;  "they  tramping  foreigners 
aren't  likely  to  come  to  good.  Let  him  go  to 
the  Union,  I  say." 


186  MIXED   PICKLES. 

Moll  Dawson  had  listened  attentively.  Now 
she  rose,  put  on  her  crushed  hat,  and  smoothed 
its  showy  but  shabby  red  feather. 

"I'll  come  again — may  I,  miss?''  she  said. 
^*It's  like  going  to  lieaveu  to  come  in  here." 

Salome  gave  her  a  ready  welcome,  and  Moll's 
heavy  step  became  a  careful  tiptoe  walk  as  she 
crossed  the  room. 

Once  outside  the  house,  however,  Moll  walked 
fast  enough  to  the  garden,  and  there  went  all 
round  the  walks  till  she  found  Mr.  Hayes.  He 
had  finished  his  round  of  the  vineries,  and  was 
going  to  the  tool-house,  to  carry  out  his  threat 
to  Beppo,  when  this  wild  looking  girl  met  him. 

"  Mr.  Hayes,"  she  said,  "  you  let  that  foreign 
boy  go,  will  you  ?  He  never  took  your  peaches, 
no  more  nor  you  did  yourself." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Hayes,  looking  at  her  with  no 
pleased  eyes,  as  she  spoke  thus  boldly;  "per- 
haps you  know  who  did  take  them,  if  youVe  so 
sure  it  wasn't  Beppo  ?" 

"Perhaps  I  do!"  retorted  Moll  coolly;  "any- 
how, you'll  not  flog  a  boy  as  hasn't  done  any- 
thing, 1  suppose  ?" 


MIXED  PICKLES.  187 

"  Unless  I  know  wlio  was  the  thief  I  shall 
suppose  it  was  Beppo,"  replied  Hayes  sulkily. 
"Why,  he  owned  it  himself;  but  if  you  can 
prove  some  one  else  did  it,  and  that  the  stone 
came  into  his  pocket  quite  by  accident,  why. 
then,  of  course,  I  shall  believe  you,  Moll 
Dawson." 

He  spoke  in  tones  of  utter  contempt ;  indeed, 
poor  Moll  was  not  often  treated  with  much 
respect. 

She  stood  still  a  moment,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down;  then,  as  Hayes  began  to  move,  with  a 
great  effort  she  said,  "  Well,  there,  then,  Ztook 
them;  will  that  satisfy  you?" 

"You  did?"  said  Hayes,  scowling  at  her.  "I 
fancy  you  are  telling  lies,  Moll  Dawson;  they 
come  easier  to  yon  than  the  truth,  I  know." 

Moll  colored  crimson,  but  did  not  answer. 

"I  suppose  you  put  the  stone  into  Beppo's 
pocket  so  as  he  should  be  accused,"  went  on 
Hayes,  looking  searchingly  at  her. 

Moll  nodded  in  silence. 

"I  don't  know  who  to  believe,  or  what  to 
to  believe,"  he  answered;  '^I  hnow  somebody's 


J  88  MIXED   PICKLES. 

telling  lies,  and  perhaps  it's  both  of  you.  Any- 
how  " 

Here  he  walked  off  to  the  tool-house  and  un- 
locked the  door. 

"  Come  out !"  he  said  roughly.  And  Beppo 
came  looking  quite  collected  now. 

"  Look  here,  young  un,"  said  Hayes  in  a  very 
much  softened  tone,  "  IVo  boys  of  my  own,  and 
rd  be  sorry  to  flog  one  of  them  if  he  didn't 
deserve  it.  Just  you  look  up  at  me  now,  and 
tell  me  the  whole  truth." 

Beppo  looked  up  in  the  gardener's  face,  and 
his  dark  eyes  were  calm  and  clear;  he  did 
not  look  like  a  ciiminal. 

His  broken  English  was  rather  funny,  but 
Hayes  soon  understood  that  he  had  in  truth 
done  a  small  piece  of  mischief.  His  foot 
slipped  as  he  was  working,  and  he  fell  against 
a  melon-frame  and  broke  a  pane  of  glass.  A 
cut  on  one  finger  showed  that  he  spoke  the 
truth.  As  to  the  peaches,  he  would  rather  starve 
than  touch  one  of  them.  "  And  I  very  sorry 
for  you,  Mr.  Hayes,"  he  added. 

Hayes  was  quite  touched. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  189 

"  Go  home  and  get  your  dinner.  I  quite  be- 
lieve you,  my  boy,"  he  said.  ^'  Stay,  come  in 
and  have  a  bit  of  dinner  with  my  wife  and 
young  folks." 

Beppo  went,  and  from  that  day  forward  had 
a  steady  friend  in  Hayes. 

"As  for  yon,  Moll  Dawson,"  said  the  gar- 
dener sharply,  "you  get  along  out  of  this. 
And  if  ever  I  catch  you  anywhere  near  the 
garden  again  you'll  go  before  the  magistrate, 
as  sure  as  my  name's  Hayes." 

Moll  turned  away  without  a  word,  and  went 
slowly  back  to  the  village. 

Light  was  coming  slowly  to  her  dark  mind 
as  the  dawn  comes  on  a  troubled  sea.  She  had 
told  a  lie  to  Playes — for  what  reason  we  shall 
see ;  but  she  did  not  understand  yet  that  it 
was  a  sin.  "  A  white  lie,"  she  called  it,  a  lie 
told  for  a  good  purpose.  Thinking  over  all 
that  Cousin  Salome  had  said  to  her,  she  went 
slowly  home  and  sought  her  brother  Jim.  Close 
to  the  house  she  met  him. 

"  Jim,"  she  s.aid,  "  I've  told  a  lie  to  save  you 
to-day ;  now  you  do  something  for  me." 


190  MIXED   PICKLES. 

*^  All  right,  old  girl,"  said  Jim,  indifferently ; 
^^one  lie  more  or  less  don't  matter  much,  I 
reckon.     What  do  you  want  out  of  me?" 

"  I  said  I  stole  the  peaches,  instead  of  you," 
said  Moll,  going  on  with  her  story. 

"  My  stars  !"  cried  Jim.  "  What  a  go  !  I 
wonder  old  Hayes  didn't  half  murder  you ! 
What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  Moll.  "  I've  got  you 
out  of  a  hole,  and  that's  enough  for  you.  Now 
you  do  something  for  me — tit  for  tat,  Jim." 

"  What's  up  now  ?"  asked  her  brother,  struck 
by  a  gentleness  in  her  tone  which  was  quite 
new. 

"  Leave  yon  old  carpenter  and  his  coin  alone," 
said  she.  "  Look  here,  Jim,  I  never  asked  you 
to  leave  a  good  job  like  that  for  me  before, 
but  do  you  give  up  robbing  him,  there's  a  good 
lad." 

"  Why,  whatever  has  come  to  the  girl  ?  And 
you  the  first  to  put  it  in  my  head  to  get  in  at 
night,  and  make  the  old  chap  show  where  he 
keeps  those  miserly  savings  o'  his  you  say  he 
hides  in  his  house!" 


MIXED   PICKLES.  191 

*^  Do  you  let  him  alone,  Jim,"  entreated  Moll. 
"  I  know  you  and  Plarry  Crowther  mean  to  get 
in  to-morrow  night,  and  no  one'll  hinder,  for  the 
old  man's  house  stands  a  bit  away.  I'll  not 
help  in  the  job,  Jim,  and  if  you  give  up  too " 

'*•  What  will  you  give  me  V  sneered  Jim. 
"Make  it  worth  my  while,  Moll,  and  I  might 
think  of  it." 

"  How  can  I  ?"  said  Moll.  "  Give  it  up,  Jim. 
Suppose  you  got  caught  ?" 

"  You  mean  to  round  on  me !"  said  Jim 
savagely,  seizing  her  arm  as  he  spoke,  and 
crushing  it  in  his  strong  fingers  till  Moll  had  to 
set  her  teeth  not  to  scream  aloud.  "  You  want 
to  get  your  brother  a  nice  pleasant  time  in  jail ! 
You're  a  nice  loving  sister,  you  are  !  Now,  look 
you  here,  Moll;  you  do  that,  and  I'll  break 
every  bone  in  your  body  as  soon  as  ever  I  get 
out  again." 

"  I'm  not  quite  so  mean,"  answered  Moll ;  "  I 
never  would  get  you  into  trouble,  Jim,  and  that 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do.  But  I'll  do  my  best 
to  get  you  and  Harry  Crowther,  too,  to  let  an 
old  man  alone.     What's  to  be  done  with  yon 


192  MIXED   PICKLES. 

little  (lark-eyed  chap,  him  they  call  Beppo,  or 
some  such  outlandish  name,  if  you  get  all  the 
old  man's  savings?  Precious  little  you  care  who 
starv^es  so  long  as  you  get  all  you  want.  Come 
now,  do  this  one  thing  for  me,  like  a  good  lad, 
Jim,"  she  went  on,  with  a  rough  effort  at  coax- 
ing him. 

But  Jim  only  told  her  to  mind  her  own  busi- 
ness.    So  Moll  went  away  and  left  him. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  she  kept  wondering 
how  this  robbery  could  be  prevented,  and  at 
last,  as  the  evening  closed  in,  an  idea  struck  her. 
If  no  inducement  could  prevail  on  Jim,  she  had 
this  plan  to  fall  back  on. 

She  would  not  "round  on  "  Jim ;  that  is,  she 
would  tell  no  tales.  She  would  not  tell  tales, 
or  give  warning  to  his  intended  victims,  but  she 
had  an  idea  of  her  own.  Whether  she  was 
able  to  carry  it  out  with  success  we  shall  see. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  193 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"where  thieves  break  through." 


Two  or  three  nights   after   this,  Roger  and 


Beppo — who  was  noAV  as  happy  as  possible 
had  gone  to  bed  quietly  as  usual,  and  had  both 
fallen  asleep,  when  Beppo  awoke  with  a  start, 
and  sat  up  in  bed.  He  did  not  know  at  first 
why  he  had  awakened  so  suddenly,  and  he  could 
hear,  by  the  old  carpenter's  (juiet  and  regular 
breathing,  that  he  still  slept.  But  Roger  was 
a  little  deaf,  and  the  noise  that  woke  Beppo  was 
not  loud  enough  to  rouse  him.  It  was,  indeed, 
not  meant  to  rouse  anybody,  for,  as  Beppo  was 
falling  to  sleep  again,  he  heard  it  once  more,  and 
this  time  sat  up  in  bed  and  strained  his  ears  to 
catch  the  sound. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it :  stealthy 
footsteps  were  moving  outside ;  whispering 
voices  speaking  close  to  the  house ;   then  the 


194  MIXED  PICKLES. 

latch  was  lifted  very  gently,  and  let  down  with 
a  little  click.  Poor  Beppo,  sitting  up  in  bed, 
felt  his  heart  beat  so  loud  that  he  fancied  the 
people  outside  must  hear  it,  although  the  room 
in  which  he  slept  was  divided  from  the  kitchen 
into  which  thieves  were  trying  to  break. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  overcome  by  terror,  but 
it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Quietly  and  quickly 
he  stole  out  of  bed,  and  proceeded  to  dress 
himself  as  noiselessly  as  possible.  He  would 
creep  out  of  another  window — the  window  of 
the  bedroom — without  disturbing  Roger  !  And 
in  order  to  delay  the  thieves,  in  case  they  should 
get  into  the  kitchen  before  he  could  bring  help, 
he  bolted  the  bedroom  door  on  the  inside. 
Then,  not  waiting  for  shoes  or  stockings,  he 
gently  opened  the  casement  window,  and  began 
to  try  and  wriggle  through. 

It  was  no  easy  matter,  especially  as  the  win- 
dow was  very  small,  and  he  dared  not  make  a 
sound.  The  house  stood  so  much  apart  that  he 
felt  it  would  be  useless  to  call  aloud  for  help ; 
it  was  probable  no  one  would  hear  him  except 
the  thieves,  who  would  not  give  him  time  for 


MIXED   PICKLES.  195 

more  than  one  shout.  All  the  neighbors  would 
be  sleeping  the  sound  sleep  of  working  men  and 
women,  and  the  only  chance  of  rousing  them 
would  be  to  hammer  on  their  doors  and  rattle 
their  windows  till  they  woke.  A  policeman 
would  take  longer  to  find.  Beppo's  hasty  plan 
was  to  run  for  the  nearest  neighbors — John 
Broome,  the  blacksmith,  and  Alick  Thornicrof t, 
the  shepherd. 

With  much  difficulty  he  was  squeezing 
through  the  tiny  window,  when,  in  the  faint 
starlight — for  the  night  was  very  dark,  except 
for  the  pale  rays  of  a  few  stars  shining  between 
spaces  in  the  clouds — he  caught  sight  of  a  most 
extraordinary  object.  The  window  of  the  bed- 
room through  which  he  was  wriggling  was  at 
the  side  of  the  house,  and  he  could  hear  the 
thieves  working  away  with  some  tools  to  force 
open  the  front  window.  Suddenly  the  slight 
noise  they  were  making  ceased,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  they  too  were  looking  at  the  very  strange 
figure  that  now  aj^peared  in  sight. 

Slowly  it  came  out  of  the  shade  of  some  dark, 
thick  trees ;  a  very  tall,  straight  figure,  with  one 


196  MIXED  PICKLES. 

arm  extended,  pointing  to  the  place  where  the 
housel)reakers  stood. 

Beppo,  half  out  of  the  window,  gazed,  horror- 
stricken,  at  this  object,  which,  with  the  super- 
stition of  his  country,  he  felt  sure  was  an  evil 
spirit,  come  to  terrify,  or  perhaps  to  carry  oflF,  the 
evildoers.  They  seemed  frightened  too,  for  as 
the  figure  very  slowly  moved  along,  not,  how- 
ever, coming  near  as  yet,  Beppo  heard  them 
whispering  to  each  other. 

*'  Let's  go  home  ;  I  don't  like  the  look  of  that 
—that  thing  !" 

"  Who's  afraid  ?"  sneered  the  other  voice. 

"  Hush  !  it's  speaking,"  said  the  first. 

"Jim  Dawson,"  said  a  low,  deep  tone  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  figure,  "  I  know  you  !" 

"Come  away,  Jim,"  whispered  one  of  the 
thieves.     "I'm  off." 

"  Stop,  Harry  Crowther  !"  said  the  figure. 

"  Harry,  you  simpleton,  come  back !"  cried 
Jim  Dawson  in  the  same  low,  cautious  tone  in 
which  he  had  all  along  spoken.  "  Look  here, 
lad." 

As  he  spoke  he  stooped  and    picked   up  a 


MIXED  PICKLES.  197 

heavy  and  ratber  sharp  stone,  which  with  his 
whole  strength  he  flung  at  the  figure  that 
stood,  still  pointing  at  him,  only  a  few  yards 
off. 

When  the  stone  struck  the  figure,  it  fell  with 
a  deep  groan  to  the  earth  ;  and  it  lay  in  a  con- 
fused heap,  motionless. 

"Well  done,  Jim!"  said  Harry  Crowther ; 
and  the  worthy  couple  went  to  work  again  on 
the  window  frame. 

Beppo  delayed  no  longer,  but  got  quietly  out 
of  the  window,  dropped  carefully  to  the  ground, 
stole  away  till  he  reached  a  dark  shadow,  avoid- 
ing the  spot  where  the  heap  lay,  and  then  was 
off  like  the  wind,  down  the  lane,  and  up  the 
blacksmith's  garden  path. 

Meantime,  the  burglars  easily  made  for  them- 
selves an  entrance  through  the  window,  and 
went  searching  the  kitchen,  poking  into  every 
nook  and  corner  to  find  the  old  caipenter's 
hidden  riches. 

"  This  is  no  go !"  said  Crowther  at  last,  find- 
ing absolutely  nothing  but  a  very  old  silver 
watch,    which   he    promptly   pocketed.     "We 


198  MIXED   PICKLES. 

must  wake  tlie  old  boy,  and  ask  him  where 
the  ^swag'  is." 

^^  Eight,  mate !  Misers  always  have  some 
queer  hole  of  their  own  to  put  their  tin  in," 
answered  Jim,  still  hunting  about  the  kitchen. 

The  sound  of  a  saucepan  falling,  which  Jim's 
clumsy  hands  let  go,  woke  old  Koger,  who,  see- 
ing a  light  in  the  kitchen,  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  doorway  with  an  old  coat  hastily  thrown 
over  his  shoulders. 

"  Look  !  he's  saved  us  the  trouble,"  said  one 
of  them. 

"  Ah  !"  growled  the  other.  **  He'll  know  us 
now,  and  we'll  be  had  up  for  this." 

Jim  Dawson  seized  the  poker,  and,  advan- 
cing to  the  old  man,  brandished  it  above  his 
head. 

"  Now,  look  here,  old  Roger,"  he  said,  "  we 
want  your  money,  but  we  don't  want  your  life 
— that's  no  use  to  us.  Now,  just  give  us  up 
those  savings,  quiet  and  peaceable,  and  off  we 
go,  if  you  promise  fii'st  to  hold  that  tongue  of 
yours." 

"Old    miser!"   went    on    Harry    Crowther, 


MIXED  PICKLES.  199 

"  where  do  you  keep  all  your  gold  ?  Out  with 
it !" 

"  I  have  no  gold,  my  lad,"  answered  old 
Roger.  His  voice  trembled  a  little ;  it  may 
have  been  from  cold,  or  from  fear,  or  both. 

"  That's  a  lie  !"  cried  Jim.  "  Who  told  little 
miss  at  the  house  up  here  about  all  the  treasure 
he  kept  hid  away  ?  Come  now,  out  with  it 
quietly,  before  I  make  you." 

"  Ah  !  I  understand,"  said  old  Eoger  quietly. 
"  There's  plenty  of  that  treasure  for  thee,  my 
lad,  enough  and  to  spare.  It's  all  in  here — 
all  in  here." 

He  tottered  slowly  across  the  floor — such  a 
feeble  old  man  he  seemed  ! — till  he  reached  his 
little  workshop  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
kitchen.  Into  this  room  the  thieves  follovNed 
him,  with  eyes  full  of  greedy  expectation. 
Roger  went  up  to  a  little  table,  and  took  tliere- 
from  an  old  book  in  strong,  plain  binding,  that 
seemed  to  have  been  much  used. 

There  were  probably  banknotes  hidden  be- 
tween the  pages,  thought  the  burglars,  and  Jim 
Dawson  snatched  it  from  his  hand  roughly. 


200  MIXED  PICKLES. 

*'  It's  all  there,  '  where  neither  moth  Dor  rust 
doth  corrupt,  and  where  thieves  do  not  break 
tlirough  nor  steal,'  "  repeated  Old  Roger. 

Jim  Dawson  rapidly  searched  the  book,  hold- 
ing it  upside  down,  that  anything  loose  might 
fall  out,  and  examining  the  cover,  to  see  if  there 
were  any  secret  place.  But  it  was  only  an  old 
Bible,  and  with  a  yell  he  sprang  at  the  defense- 
less old  man,  and  would  have  injured  him 
seriously,  had  it  not  been  at  this  moment  there 
came  a  sound  of  the  door  opening,  and  foot- 
steps in  the  kitchen. 

Beppo  had  come  with  the  blacksmith  and  the 
shepherd,  and  a  sturdy  young  farmer  whom  he 
had  met  on  the  way  back. 

The  thieves  were  caught  in  a  trap.  Beppo, 
creeping  quietly  through  the  larger  window, 
had  let  in  these  kind  friends;  and  before  Jim 
Dawson  and  his  bad  companion  could  think  of 
escape  they  were  seized  by  strong  hands  and 
held  fast. 

A  policeman  was  soon  brought,  and  as  they 
and  their  captors  were  leaving  the  house  they 
passed  that  queer  heap. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  20^ 

"  What's  this  V  said  Thornicroft ;  ^'  some  one 
been  following  you  V 

"  Some  one  who  tried  to  frighten  me,"  said 
Jim  Dawson  sullenly ;  ^'  so  I  up  with  a  stone." 

"And  killed  your  own  sister,"  said  the  black- 
smith, raising  the  figure  gently. 

It  was  indeed  poor  Moll ;  but  she  was  not 
dead,  only  stunned  and  senseless. 


20a  MIXED   PICKLES. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

**FRIEND,     GO     UP    HIGHEr!" 

There  came  at  last,  uext  day,  a  governess 
for  Bryda ;  and  she,  remembering  Miss  Quillnib, 
the  only  teacher  she  had  ever  had,  except 
mother,  expected  an  elderly  lady  with  prim 
dress  and  iron -gray  curls.  But  it  is  hard  to  say 
if  she  was  most  surprised  or  pleased  to  see  a 
bright-faced  young  girl  who  could  not  be  more 
than  twenty-one  or  twenty -two,  who  was  nicely 
dressed,  and  looked  as  if  she  could  enjoy 
amusing  things  quite  as  well  as  Miss  Bryda 
herself. 

Bryda  put  her  through  a  short  catechism 
when  her  shyness  had  worn  off  a  little,  which 
was  by  the  time  that  she  and  the  governess  had 
settled  down  to  tea  in  the  cosy  schoolroom. 

"  Miss  Mervyn,  do  you  like  jam  V  she  asked, 


Bryda  laughed,  and  then  grew  solemn.— Page  203. 


MIXED   PICKLES.  203 

SO  very  gravely  that  the  young  lady  burst  into 
an  extremely  merry  laugh. 

"  Very  much,"  she  said,  trying  to  be  as  grave 
as  her  pupil;  "especially  raspberry!  We  used 
to  call  that  ^real  jam,'  at  ray  home." 

"Did  you?"  said  Bryda.  "But  do  you  like 
lessons  better  than  play  ?" 

"  Certainly  not !"  said  Miss  Mervyn.  "  Only 
the  play  would  get  very  stupid  if  it  went  on 
every  day,  all  day  long.  So  I  like  some  lessons, 
too.  How  should  you  like  to  live  on  Jam 
without  any  bread,  Bryda  ?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"  Well,  I  think  the  working  part  of  the  day 
is  the  bread  to  make  the  play  seem  nice.  How 
would  a  cake  be  that  was  only  currants  and 
sugar  ?" 

Bryda  laughed,  and  then  she  grew  solemn 
again.     "  But  I  doinJt  like  dates,"  she  said. 

"No  more  do  I,"  answered  Miss  Mervyn. 
"  That  is,  I  don't  like  too  many  at  once.  But  I 
suppose  you  never  remember  your  birthday, 
Bryda?" 

"Twenty -first    of    June!"    said    the    pupil 


204  MIXED  PICKLES. 

promptly.  "But  then  I  know  all  about  that, 
and  it's  a  very  nice  sort  of  day !" 

"Well,  if  T  were  to  give  you  a  packet  of 
sweeties  every  year  on  the  day  of  the  battle  of 
Waterloo,  would  it  be  easy  to  remember?" 

"  It  might,"  answered  Breda. 

"  Then  let  us  try  to  divide  the  day  between 
lessons  and  i>lay,  so  that  we  may  have  the  proper 
quantities  of  bread  and  jam?     Shall  we,  dear?" 

"Yes,  that  will  be  nice!  And,  oh!  Miss 
Mervyn,"  burst  out  Bryda,  "  will  you  sometimes 
come  and  see  old  Koger  ?"  She  had  thought  of 
little  else  all  day. 

"Who  is  old  Roger?"  asked  Miss  Mervyn. 

Bryda  poured  out  all  the  story  of  Roger  and 
of  Beppo,  and  of  her  first  adventure  in  the 
Dawsons'  cottage,  and  of  all  that  had  happened 
since. 

The  story  lasted  till  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  Uncle  Jack  entered. 

"  Well,  Uncle  Jack  !  w^hat  have  they  done  to 
Jim  Dawson?"  cried  Bryda. 

"Jim  has  been  sent  to  prison,"  answered 
Uncle  Jack;  "when  his  time  of  punishment  is 


MIXED   PICKLES.  205 

over  we  will  see  what  can  be  done  for  him. 
And  Moll  is  not  dead,  Bryda;  that  is  what  I 
came  up  to  tell  you — that  and  something  else. 
Moll  will  recover,  and  when  she  leaves  the 
infirmary  Cousin  Salome  has  a  little  plan  for 
her,  which  will  take  her  away  among  kind 
people,  who  will  teach  her  and  help  her  to  be 
good." 

"  AVhat  was  the  something  else.  Uncle  Jack  ?" 

"The  something  else  was  that  old  Roger 
would  like  to  see  you  to-morrow  morning,  if 
Miss  Mervyn  will  be  good  enough  to  take  you 
there,  as  early  as  possible,"  he  said.  "  Roger  is 
going  to  his  palace,  Bryda,  and  he  may  start  to- 
morrow, so  he  would  like  to  say  good-by." 

"  How  nice  for  Roger,"  said  Bryda.  "  Aren't 
you  glad  he  is  going.  Uncle  Jack  ?  You  spoke 
quite  sadly.  I  suppose  you  will  miss  old  Roger ; 
I  am  sure  I  shall." 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Uncle  Jack,  in  a 
voice  that  shook  a  little.  Evidently  he  would 
miss  old  Roger  very  much  indeed. 

"Poor  Liz !"  said  Bryda,  as  she  went  to  bed, 
"  I  am  so  sorry  she  cannot  go  too  !" 


206  MIXED  PICKLES. 

When  Miss  Mervyn  and  Bryda  went  down  to 
Roger's  cottage  in  the  morning,  it  seemed  won- 
derfully quiet.  There  was  no  sound  of  the  car- 
penter's diligent  work — all  his  tools  were  neatly 
laid  aside.  The  cottage  looked  as  though  it 
were  Sunday.  Roger  was  going  home;  he 
would  need  his  tools  no  more. 

Going  into  the  inner  room,  they  found  old 
Roger  in  bed  propped  up  with  pillows,  while 
Beppo,  crouched  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  kept  his 
big,  dark  eyes  fixed,  with  a  very  sorrowful  look, 
on  the  old  man's  face. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Bryda  suddenly 
understand  what  it  all  meant ;  and  with  a  little 
cry  of  "  Oh,  Roger,  don't  die !"  she  sprang  to 
the  bedside. 

"  Gently,  dear,"  said  Miss  Mervyn  following 
her. 

^'  Oh,  I  will  be  still !"  sobbed  Bryda ;  but, 
oh,  Roger,  I  never  thought  you  meant  dying, 
when  you  told  me  about  your  palace.  And  it 
was  because  I  did  not  understand,  and  told 
Moll  Dawson  about  youi'  treasures,  that  all  this 
has  happened  !    Oh,  it's  my  fault !''  she  sobbed. 


MIXED  PICKLES.  201 

'^"N^o,  dear,"  said  Miss  Mervyn  gently.  "It 
is  not  your  fault.  But  next  time  things  puzzle 
you,  Bryda,  ask  some  one  to  explain  them." 

There  was  a  smile  as  beautiful  as  the  calm 
light  of  a  summer's  sunset  on  the  old  man's 
face.  How  glad  he  seemed  to  be  going  Home  ! 
With  something  of  an  effort  he  spoke : 

"  They  shall  see  the  King  in  His  beauty  .  .  . 
the  land  that  is  very  far  off.  In  My  Father's 
house  .  .  .  many  mansions  ...  a  place  for 
you  .  .  .  that  means  one  for  me  too,  Miss 
Bryda !" 

"And  one  for  Liz,"  said  Bryda  quickly. 

"  Ah !  Liz  will  be  able  to  show  me  round,  she's 
been  there  for  so  long  .  .  .  she'll  teach  me  the 
ways  o'  the  place,  and  the  new  song  they  sing 
there.  She  w^as  always  a  good  singer,  was  Liz, 
and  loved  it." 

"  For  Beppo  one  place,  too,"  said  a  little  voice 
from  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  One  place  for  all  the  children  of  the  King, 
if  they  have  kept  their  garments  white,"  said 
Miss  Mervyn. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Roger  faintly,  "where  the 


208  MIXED   PICKLES. 

Lord  God  giveth  light  .  .  .  Wipeth  away  all 
tears  .  .  .  One  thing  more  .  ,  .  What  is  it?" 
His  memory  seemed  to  fail,  then  again  returned. 

"  Yes,  that's  it  .  .  .  Not  all  rest  and  singing 
.  .  .  His  servants  shall  serve  Him  .  .  .  work 
for  old  E-oger  .  .  .  work  for  Beppo  .  .  .  for  all, 
work  and  rest.  But  there's  something  more  .  .  . 
something  good " 

His  voice  failed  completely. 

"Yes,  there  is,"  said  Miss  Mervyn;  'Hhe 
best  thing  of  all !  '  They  shall  see  His 
Face!'" 

A  smile  of  exquisite  delight  came  over  the 
old  man's  face.  He  spoke  no  more,  but  lay 
back  on  *his  pillows,  gazing  before  him  and  fold- 
ing his  hands,  as  if  already  he  had  some  fore- 
taste of  that  wonderful  promise,  given  long  ago 
to  the  pure  in  heart,  "They  shall  see  God  !" 

And  then,  from  utter  weakness,  he  fell  into  a 
gentle  sleep,  like  that  of  a  child,  with  that  same 
smile  on  his  face. 

Thus  Miss  Mervyn,  and  even  Bryda  and 
little  Beppo,  as  t-h^y  looked,  could  understand 
how  true  are  the  words  of  the  Apostle,  "  Every 


MIXED   PICKLES.  209 

man  tbat  hath  this  hope  in  him  purifieth  him- 
self, even  as  He  is  pure." 

They  would  try  to  be  of  the  number  of  those 
for  whom  the  many  mansions  are  prepared ;  of 
those,  like  Roger, 

"  The  guileless  in  their  way. 

Who  keep  the  ranks  of  battle. 
Who  mean  the  things  they  say.^^ 

They  stood  watching  old  Roger's  sleep  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  Miss  Mervyn  gently  drew 
Bryda  away;  and  Beppo  and  Mrs.  Mears,  the 
kind  parish  nurse  and  Bible  woman,  w^ere  left  to 
watch  the  sleeper. 

Before  that  day  was  ended  old  Roger  had  set 
out  on  his  journey — had  gone  to  join  Liz  in  the 
Palace  of  the  King. 

The  shock  of  Jim  Dawson's  attempted  rob- 
bery, and  a  chill  caught  at  the  same  time, 
were  more  than  Roger's  enfeebled  frame  could 
stand. 

Cousin  Salome  wrote  a  little  poem  about 
him ;  but  she  said,  and  all  agreed  with  her,  that 


210  MIXED  PICKLES. 

the  old  man's  life  and  deatli  were  a  better  poem, 
written  in  God's  book  of  history,  where  per- 
haps the  names  that  we  think  great  and  famous 
are  not  the  most  conspicuous. 

His  body  was  laid  beside  that  of  Liz.  and 
Biyda  gathered  the  freshest  flowers  and  made 
two  wreaths  every  Sunday  moraing. 

And  Beppo?  A  well  to-do  farmer's  wife, 
who  had  no  child,  offered  to  adopt  him,  and 
make  him  quite  like  her  own  child.  Cousin 
Salome  was  not  sure  if  the  plan  would  woi-k 
well,  so  she  proposed  that  the  boy  should  go 
for  a  month  at  first.  And  he  went ;  and  at  the 
end  of  the  month  the  farmer's  wife  declared  that 
she  must  be  allowed  to  keep  him,  if  only  be- 
cause he  was  such  a  capital  advertisement  of 
her  good  milk  and  butter,  since  he  had  grown 
so  much  fatter  and  stronger.  Now  and  then  he 
was  allowed  to  come  and  spend  the  day  witli 
Bryda,  for  the  grannies  said  he  was  "  a  perfect 
little  gentleuian,  who  could  do  Bryda  no  harm." 

Bryda  had  no  more  need  to  complain  of  being 
lonely,  or  of  having  nothing  to  do.  By  the  time 
that  she  had  done  her  lessons  diligently,  and 


MIXED  PICKLES.  ^11 

played  heartily  with  Miss  Mervyn,  who  was 
very  good  at  battledore  and  shuttlecock  and  other 
capital  games,  and  had  found  time  to  do  "  some- 
thing for  someone  else,"  in  which  Miss  Mervyn 
was  always  ready  to  help  her,  why  the  day  was 
gone,  and  it  was  bedtime.  That  is  the  great 
secret  of  not  getting  into  scrapes,  to  have  plenty 
to  do,  and  Uncle  Jack  was  obliged  to  confess 
one  day,  when  Bryda  insisted  on  an  answer  to 
her  question,  that  he  could  no  longer  truthfully 
gay  that  she  "  lived  in  a  jar  of  Mixed  Pickles." 


THE    END. 


A,  L.  Burt's  Catalogue  of  Books  for 
Young  People  by  Popular  Writers,  52- 
58  Duane  Street,  New  York    ^    ^    >< 


BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland.  By  Lewis  Carroll. 

12mo,  cloth,  42  illustrations,  price  75  cents. 

"From  first  to  last,  almost  without  exception,  this  story  is  delightfully 
droll,  humorous  and  illustrated  in  harmony  with  the  story." — New  York 
Express. 

Through  the  Looking  Glass,  and  What  Alice  Found 

There.    By  Lewis  Carroll.     12ino,  cloth,  50  illustrations,  price  75  cents. 
**A  delight  alilie  to  the  young  people  and  their  elders,  extremely  funny 
both  in  text  and  illustrations." — Boston  Express. 

Little   Lucy's   Wonderful   Globe.     By  Charlotte   M. 

YoNGE.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"This  story  is  unique  among  tales  intended  for  children,  alilie  for  pleas- 
ant instruction,  quaintness  of  humor,  gentle  pathos,  and  the  subtlety  with 
which  lessons  moral  and  otherwise  are  conveyed  to  children,  and  perhaps 
to  their  seniors  as  well." — The  Spectator. 

Joan's  Adventures  at  the  North  Pole  and  Elsewhere. 

By  Alice  Corkran.    ISino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Wonderful  as  the  adventures  of  Joan  are,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
they  are  very  naturally  worked  out  and  very  plausibly  presented.  Alto- 
gether this  is  an  excellent   story   for  girls." — Saturday   Review. 

Count  Up  the  Sunny  Days :    A  Story  for  Girls  and  Boys. 

By  C.  A.  Jones.    12nio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"An   unusually    good   children's   story." — Glasg'ow   Herald. 

The   Dove  in  the   Eagle's   Nest.     By    Charlotte   M. 

YoNGE.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  SI. 00. 

"Among  all  the  modern  writers  we  believe  Miss  Yonge  first,  not  in 
genius,  but  in  this,  that  she  employs  her  great  abilities  for  a  high  and 
noble  purpose'.  We  know  of  few  modern  writers  whose  works  may  be  so 
safely  commended  as  hers." — Cleveland  Times. 

Jan  of  the  Windmill.     A  Story  of  the  Plains.     By  Mrs. 

J.  H.  EwiNG.        12mo,  cloth,  iUustrated,  price  SLOO. 

"Never  has  Mrs.  Ewing  published  a  more  charming  volume,  and  that 
is  saying  a  very  great  deal.  From  the  first  to  the  last  the  book  over- 
tlows  v\'ith  tho  strange  knowledge  of  child-nature  which  so  rarely  sur- 
vives childhood;  and  moreover,  with  inexhaustible  quiet  humor,  which 
is  never  anything  but  innocent  and  well-bred,  never  priggish,  and  never 
clumsy. " — Academy. 

A  Sweet  Girl  Graduate.     By  L.  T.  Meade.     12nio,  cloth, 

illustrated,  price  $1.00.         y( 

"One  of  this  popular  author's  best.  The  characters  are  well  imagined 
and  drawn.  The  story  moves  with  plenty  of  spirit  and  the  interest  does 
not  flag  until  the  end  too  quickly   comes." — Providence  Journal. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,   A.   L.   BURT,   52-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


2  A.  L.  BURT^SS  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Six    to    Sixteen:     A   Story   for   Girls.     By  Juliana 

HoRATiA  EvviNG.     12ino,  clotli,  illustrated,  price  §1.00. 

"There  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  good  quality  and  attractiveness  of  'Six  to 
Sixteen.'  The  book  Is  one  which  would  enrich  any  girl's  book  shelf." — 
St.  James'  Gazette. 

Y  The  Palace  Beautiful:     A  Story  for  Girls.     By  L.  T. 

Meade.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  SI. 00. 

"A  bright  and  interesting  story.  The  many  admirers  of  Mrs.  L.  T. 
Meade  in  this  country  will  be  delighted  with  the  'Palace  Beautiful'  for 
more  reasons  than  one.  It  is  a  charming  booli  for  girls." — New  York 
Recorder. 

A  World  of  Girls:     The  Story  of  a  School.     By  L.  T. 

Meade.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  those  wholesome  stories  which  it  does  one  good  to  read.  It 
will  afford  pure  dtdight  to  numerous  readers.  This  book  should  be  on 
every  girl's  booli  shelf." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

X  The  Lady  of  the  Forest :     A  Story  for  Girls.     By  L.  T. 

Meade.    12rno,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  story  is  written  in  the  author's  well-known,  fresh  and  easy  style. 
All  girls  fond  of  reading  will  be  charmed  by  this  well-written  story.  It 
is  told  with  the  autlT»r's  customary  grace  and  spirit." — Boston  Times. 

At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wind.    By  George  Mac- 

DONALD.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"A  very  pretty  story,  with  much  of  the  freshness  and  vigor  of  Mr.  Mac- 
donald's  earlier  work.  .  .  .  It  is  a  sweet,  earnest,  and  wholesome  fairy 
story,  and  the  quaint  native  humor  is  delightful.  A  most  delightful  vol- 
ume for  young  readers." — Philadelphia  Times. 

The  Water  Bahies:     A  Fairy  Tale  for   a   Land  Baby. 

By  Charles  Kingsley.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  strength  of  his  work,  as  well  as  its  peculiar  charms,  consist  In 
his  description  of  the  experiences  of  a  youth  with  life  under  water  in  the 
luxuriant  wealth  of  which  he  revels  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  poetical  na- 
ture."— New   York   Tribune. 

Our  Bessie.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey.     12mo,  cloth,  illus- 

strated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  the  most  entertaining  stories  of  the  season,  full  of  vigorous 
action,  and  strong  in  character-painting.  Elder  girls  will  Ih>  charmed  with 
it,  and  adults  may  read  its  pages  with  profit." — The  Teachers'  Aid. 

X   Wild  Kitty.     A  Story  of  Middleton  School.     By  L.  T. 

Meade.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.(X). 

"Kitty  is  a  true  heroine — warm-hearted,  self-sacrificing,  and,  as  all 
good  women  nowadays  are,  largely  touched  with  the  enthusiasm  of  human- 
ity.    One  of  the  most  attractive  gift  books  of  the  season." — The  Academy. 

A   Young   Mutineer.     A    Story  for  Girls.     By   L.    T. 

Meade.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  Mrs.  Meade's  charming  books  for  girls,  narrated  In  that  simple 
and  picturesque  style  which  marks  the  authoress  as  one  of  the  first  among 
writers  for  young  people." — The  Spectator. 


For  sale  by  all  Iwoksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,   A.  L.   BURT,  52-68  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  3 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Sue  and  I.     By  Mrs.  O'Keilly.     12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
trated, price  75  cents. 
"A  thoroughly  delightful  book,  full  of  sound  wisdom  as  well  as  fun."—' 

Athenaeum. 

The  Princess   and  the   Goblin.     A   Fairy   Story.    By 

George  Macdonald.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"If  a  child  ouce  begins  this  book,  it  will  get  so  deeply  interested  in 
it  that  when  bedtime  comes  it  will  altogether  forget  the  moral,  and  will 
wearj^  its  parents  with  importunities  for  just  a  few  minutes  more  to  see 
how  everything  ends." — Saturday  Review. 

Pythia's    Pupils:     A    Story    of    a    School.     By  Eva 

Hartner.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"This  story  of  the  doings  of  several  bright  school  girls  is  sure  to  interest 
girl  readers.     Among  many  good  stories  for  girls  this  is  undoubtedly  one 
of   the   very   best." — Teachers'    Aid. 

A  Story  of  a  Short  Life.     By  Juliana  Horatia  Ewing. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  boolc  is  one  we  can  heartily  recommend,  for  it  is  not  only  bright 
and  interesting,  but  also  pure  and  healthy  in  tone  and  teaching." — 
Couiier. 

The  Sleepy  King.    A  Fairy  Tale.    By  Aubrey  Hop- 
wood  and  Seymc^ur  Hicks.     12nio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"Wonderful  as  the  adventures  of  Bluebell  are,  it  must  be  admitted  that 

they     are     very     naturally     worked     out     and     very     plausibU'     presented. 

Altogether  this  is  an  excellent  story  for  girls." — Saturday  Review. 

Two    Little    Waifs.     By    Mrs.  Molesworth.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth's  delightful  story  of  Two  Little  Waifs'  will  charm 
all  the  small  people  who  find  it  in  their  stockings.  It  relates  the  ad- 
ventures of  two  lovable  English  children  lost  in  Paris,  and  is  just  wonder- 
ful enough  to  pleasantly  wring  the  youthful  heart." — New  York  Tribune. 

Adventures  in  Toyland.    By  Edith  King  Hall.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  author  is  such  a  bright,  cheery  writer,  that  her  stories  are 
always  acceptable  to  all  who  are  not  confirmed  cynics,  and  her  record  of 
the  adventures  is  as  entertaining  and  enjoyable  as  we  might  expect." — 
Boston  Courier. 

Adventures  in   Wallypug  Land.    By  Gr.   E.  Farrow. 

i3mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"These  adventures  are  simply  inimitable,  and  will  delight  boys  and  girls 
of  mature  age,  as  well  as  their  juniors.  No  happier  combination  of 
author  and  artist  than  this  volume  presents  could  be  found  to  furnish 
healthy  amusement  to  the  young  folks.  The  book  is  an  artistic  one  in 
every  sense." — Toronto  Mail. 

Fussbudget's   Folks.     A   Story   for  Young  Girls.     By 

Anna  F.  Burnham.    12nio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Mrs.  Burnham  has  a  rare  gift  for  composing  stories  for  children.  With 
a  light,  yet  forcible  touch,  she  paints  sweet  and  artless,  yet  natural  and 
strong,   characters. ' ' — Congregationalist. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  52-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


4  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Mixed  Pickles.     A  Story  for  Girls.     By  Mrs.  E.  M. 

Field.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"It  is,  In  its  way,  a  little  classic,  of  which  the  real  beauty  and  pathos 
can  hardly  bo  appreciated  by  young  people.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say 
of  the  story  that  It  is  perfect  of  its  kind." — Good  Literature. 

Miss   Mouse   and  Her   Boys.     A  Story  for  Girls.    By 

^    Mrs.  Molesworth.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Mrs.  Molesvvorth's  books  are  cheery,  wholesome,  and  particularly  well 
adapted  to  refined  life.  It  is  safe  to  add  that  she  is  the  best  English  prose 
writer  for  cliildren.  A  new  volume  from  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  ^ways  a 
treat." — The  Beacon. 

Gilly  Flower.     A  Story   for   Girls.     By  the  author  of 

X    "  Miss  Toosey's  Mission."        12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $100. 

"Jill  is  a  little  guardian  angel  to  three  lively  brothers  who  tease  and 
play  with  her.  .  .  .  Her  unconscious  goodness  brings  right  thoughts 
and  resolves  to  several  persons  who  come  into  contact  with  her.  There  is 
n(»  gf)odiness  in  this  tale,  but  its  Influence  is  of  the  best  kind." — Literary 
World. 

The  Chaplet  of  Pearls;  or,  The  White  and  Black  Ribau- 

mont.    By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Sl.OO. 
"Full   of   spirit   and    life,    so   well    sustained    throughout    that   grown-up 
readers  may  enjoy  it  as  much  as  children.     It  is  one  of  the  best  books  of 
the  season." — Guardian. 

Naughty  Miss  Bunny:     Her  Tricks  and  Troubles.    By 

K     Clara  Mi'lholland.     12iiio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  naughty  child  is  positively  delightful.  Papas  should  not  omit  the 
book  from  their  list  of  juvenile  presents." — Land  and  Watjr. 

r  Megfs    Friend.      By    Alice    Cokkran.     12rao,    cloth, 

ilhistrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  Miss  Corkran's  charming  books  for  girls,  narrated  in  that  simple 
and  i)irtures(|ne  style  whioli  niiirlci  the  authoress  as  one  of  the  first  among 
writers  for  young  people." — The  Spectator. 

/  Averil.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 

price  $1.00. 

"A  charming  story  for  young  folks.  Averil  is  a  delightful  creature — 
piquant,  tender,  and  true — and  her  varying  fortunes  are  perfectly  real- 
istic."—World. 

Aunt  Diana.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey.     12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
trated, price  $1.00. 

".\n  excellent  story,  the  interest  being  sustained  from  first  to  last. 
This  is,  both  in  its  intention  and  the  way  the  story  is  told,  one  of  the 
best  books  of  its  kind  which  has  come  before  us  this  year." — Saturday 
Review. 

Little  Sunshine's  Holiday:     A  Picture  from  Life.     By 

><     Miss  Mulock.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"This  la  a  pretty  narrative  of  child  life,  describing  the  simple  doings 
and  sayings  of  a  very  charming  and  rather  precocious  child.  This  is  a 
delightful  book  for  young  people." — Gazette. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellem,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  tl)9 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUBT,  68-(8  Puano  Street,  New  York, 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  5 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Esther's  Charge.  A  Story  for  Girls.  By  Ellen  Everett 

Green.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
^ .         "...     This  is  a   story  showing  in  a  charming  way  how  one  little 
•       girl's  jealousy   and    bad   temper   were   conquered;     one   of   the    best,    most 
suggestive  and  improving  of  the  Christmas  juveniles." — New  York  Trib- 
une. 

Fairy   Land   of   Science.     By  Arabella  B.  Buckley. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"We  can  highly  recommend  it;  not  only  for  the  valuable  information 
it  gives  on  the  s})ecial  subjects  to  which  it  is  dedicated,  but  also  as  a 
book  teaching  natural  sciences  hi  an  interesting  way.  A  fascinating 
little  volume,  which  will  make  friends  in  every  household  in  which  there 
are  children." — Daily  News. 

Merle's   Crusade.     By   Eosa  N.  Carey.     12mo,   cloth, 

illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Among  the  books  for  young  people  we  have  seen  nothing  more  unique 
than  this  book.  Like  all  of  this  author's  stories  it  will  please  young  read- 
ers by  the  very  attractive  and  charming  style  in  which  it  is  written." — 
Journal. 

Birdie:     A    Tale   of    Child   Life.     By  H.  L.  Childe- 

Pemberton.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  story  is  quaint  and  simple,  but  there  is  a  freshness  about  it 
that  makes  one  hear  again  the  ringing  laugh  and  the  cheery  shout  of  chil- 
dren at  play  which   charmed  his  earlier  years." — ifew  York  Express. 

The  Days  of  Bruce:     A  Story  from  Scottish  History. 

By  Grace  Aguilar.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"There  is  a  delightful  freshness,  sincerity  and  vivacity  about  all  of  Grace 
Aguilar's  stories  which  cannot  fail  to  win  the  interest  and  admiration  of 
every  lover  of  good  reading." — Boston  Beacon. 

Three  Bright  Girls :     A  Story  of  Chance  and  Mischance. 

By  Annie  E.  Armstrong.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"The  charm  of  the  story  lies  in  the  cheery  helpfulness  of  spirit  devel- 
oped in  the  girls  by  their  changed  circumstances;  while  the  author  finds 
a  pleasant  ending  to  all  their  happy  makeshifts.  The  story  is  charmingly 
told,  and  the  book  can  be  warmly  recommended  as  a  present  for  girls." — 
Standard. 

Giannetta :     A  Girl's  Story  of  Herself.     By  Eosa  Mul- 

HOLLAND.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Extremely  well  told  and  full  of  interest.  Giannetta  is  a  true  heroine — 
warm-hearted,  sclf-sacriflcing,  and,  as  all  good  women  nowadays  are, 
largely  touched  with  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  The  illustrations  are  un- 
usually good.  One  of  the  most  attractive  gift  books  of  the  season." — The 
Academy. 

Margery    Merton's    Girlhood.     By    Alice    Corkran. 

12rao,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The    experiences    of    an    orphan    girl    who    in    infancy    is    left    by    her 
father  to  the  care  of  an  elderly  aunt  residing  near  Paris.     The  accounts 
^      of  the  various  persons  who  have  an  after  influence  on   the  story   are  sin- 
gularly vivid.     There  is  a  subtle  attraction  about  the  book  which  will  make 
it   a   great   favorite   with   thoughtful   girls." — Saturday   Review. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,   or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.   L.   BVBT,   52-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


6  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  girls! 

Under  False  Colors:     A  Story  from  Two  Girls'  Lives. 

By  Sarah  Doudnky.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  pi  ice  $1.00. 
^  "Sarah  Doiulney  has  no  superior  as  a  writer  of  high-toned  stories — pure 

'         In  style,  original  In  conception,  and  with  sliillfully  wrought  out  plots;  but 
V        we  liave  seen  nothing  equal  in  dramatic  energy  to  this  booli." — Christian 
Leader. 

Down  the  Snow  Stairs;  or,  From  Good-night  to  Good- 

morning.  By  Alice  Corkran.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"Among  all  the  Christmas  volumes  which  the  year  has  brought  to  our 
table  this  one  stands  out  facile  princeps — a  gem  of  the  first  water,  bearing 
upon  every  one  of  its  pages  the  signet  marlj  of  genius.  .  .  .  All  is  told 
with  such  simplicity  and  perfect  naturalness  that  the  dream  appears  to  be 
a  solid  reality.  It  is  indeed  a  Little  Pilgrim's  Progress." — Christian 
Leader. 

The  Tapestry  Room:     A  Child's  Eomance.     By  Mrs. 

MoLESWORTH.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth  is  a  charming  painter  of  the  nature  and  ways  of 
children;  and  she  has  done  good  service  In  giving  us  this  charming 
juvenile  which  will  delight  the  young  people." — Athenseum,  London. 

Little  Miss  Peggy:     Only  a  Nursery  Story.     By  Mrs. 

Molesworth.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

Mrs.  Molesworth's  children  are  finished  studies.  A  joyous  earnest  spirit 
pervades  her  worlt,  and  her  sympathy  is  unbounded.  She  loves  them 
with  her  whole  heart,  while  she  lays  bare  their  little  minds,  and  expresses 
their  foibles,  their  fftults,  their  virtues,  their  inward  struggles,  their 
conception  of  duty,  and  their  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  right  and  wrong 
of  things.  She  knows  their  characters,  she  understands  their  wants, 
and   she  desires  to  help  them. 

Polly:     A    New    Fashioned    Girl.     By    L.  T.  Meade. 

12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Si  .00. 

Few  authors  have  achieved  a  popularity  equal  to  Mrs.  Meade  as  a 
y  writer  of  stories  for  young  girls.  Her  characters  are  living  beings  of 
flesh  and  blood,  not  lay  figures  of  conventional  type.  Into  the  trials 
and  crosses,  and  everyday  experiences,  the  reader  enters  at  once  with  zest 
and  hearty  sympathy.  While  Mrs.  Mende  always  writes  with  a  high 
moral  purpose,  her  lessons  of  life,  purity  and  nobility  of  character  are 
rather  inculcat(>d  by  example  than  intruded  as  sermons. 

One  of  a  Covey.     By  the    author  of  "Miss    Toosey's 

Mission."    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

/  "Full  of  spirit  and  life,  so  well  sustained  throtighout  that  grown-ap 
readers  may   enjoy   it  as  much   as  children.     This   'Covey*   consists  of   the 

y  twelve  children  of  a  hard-pressed  Dr.  Partridge  out  of  which  is  chosen  a 
little  girl  to  be  adopted  by  a  spoiled,  fine  lady.  We  have  rarely  read 
a  story  for  Imys  and  girls  with  greater  pleasure.  One  of  the  chief  char- 
acters v.-ould  not  have  disgraced  Dickens'  pen." — Literary  World. 

The  Little  Princess  of  Tower  Hill.     By  L.  T.  Meade. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"This  is  one  of  the  prettiest  books  for  children  published,  as  pretty 
ns  a  pond-lily,  and  quite  as  fragrant.  Nothing  could  be  imagined  more 
X  attractive  to  yopng  peoy)l(>  than  such  a  combination  of  fresh  pages  and 
fair  pictures;  and  while  children  will  rejoice  over  it — which  Is  much 
better  than  crying  for  it — It  is  a  book  tliht  ean  l)e  read  with  pleasure 
even  by  older  boys  and  girls." — Boston  Advertiser. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  post pn id  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,   62-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^'S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  7 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Kosy.     By  Mrs.  Molesworth.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 

price  75  ceuts. 

Mrs.  Molesworth,  considering  the  quality  and  quantity  of  her  labors, 
is  the  best  story-teller  for  children   England  has  yet  linown. 

"This  is  a  very  pretty  story.  The  writer  knows  children,  and  their 
ways  well.     The  illustrations  are  exceedingly  well  drawn." — Spectator. 

Esther:     A  Book  for  Girls.    By  Eos  a  N.  Carey.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"She  inspires  her  readers  simply  by  bringing  them  in  contact  with  the 
characters,  who  are  in  themselves  inspiring.  Her  simple  stories  are  woven 
in  order  to  give  her  an  opportunity  to  describe  her  characters  by  their  own 
conduct  in  seasons  of  trial." — Chicago  Times. 

Sweet  Content.     By  Mrs.  Molesworth.     12mo,  cloth, 

illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"It  seems  to  me  not  at  all  easier  to  draw  a  lifelike  child  than  to  draw 
a  lifelike  man  or  woman:  Shakespeare  and  Webster  were  the  only  two 
men  of  their  age  who  could  do  it  with  perfect  delicacy  and  success. 
Our  own  age  is  more  fortunate,  on  this  single  score  at  least,  having  a 
larger  and  far  nobler  proportion  of  female  writers;  among  whom,  since 
the  death  of  George  Eliot,  there  is  none  left  whose  touch  is  so  exquisite 
and  masterly,  whose  love  is  so  thoroughly  according  to  knowledge,  whose 
bright  and  sweet  invention  is  so  fruitful,  so  truthful,  or  so  delightful  as 
Mrs.    Molesworth's." — A.    C.    Swinbourne. 

Honor  Bright ;  or,  The  Four-Leaved  Shamrock.     By  the 

author  of  "•  Miss  Toosey's  Mission."    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1  00. 
"It    requires    a    special    talent    to    describe    the    sayings    and    doinjjs    of 
children,  and  the  author  of  'Honor  Bright,'  'One  of  a  Covey,'  possesses  that 
talent   in   no   small  degree.     A   cheery,    sensible,    and   healthy    tale," — Tho 
Times. 

The   Cuckoo   Clock.      By   Mrs.   Molesworth.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  ceuts. 
"A  beautiful  little  story.  It  will  be  read  with  delight  by  every  child 
into  whose  hands  it  is  placed.  .  .  .  The  author  deserves  all  the  praise 
that  has  been,  is,  and  will  be  bestowed  on  'The  Cuckoo  Clock.'  Children's 
storI(>s  are  plentiful,  but  one  like  this  is  not  to  be  met  with  every  day." — 
Fall  Mall  Gazette. 

The  Adventures  of  a  Brownie.     As  Told  to  my  Child. 

By  Miss  MuLOCK.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"The  author  of  this  delightful  little  book  leaves  it  in  doubt  all  through 
whether  there  actually  is  such  a  creature  in  existence  as  a  Brownie,   but 
she  makes  us  hope  that  there  might  be." — Chicago  Standard. 

Only  a  Girl:     A  Tale  of  Brittany.     From  the  French 

by  C.  A.  Jones.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"We  can  thoroughly  recommend  this  brightly  written  and  homely  nar- 
rative."— Saturday  Review. 

Little    Rosebud;  or,  Things  Will    Take    a   Turn.     By 

Beatrice  Harraden.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"A  most  delightful  little  book.     ,     .     .     Miss  Harraden  is  so  bright,  so 
healthy,  and  so  natural  withal  that  the  book  ought,  as  a  matter  of  duty, 
to   be   added   to  every   girl's   library   in   the   land." — Boston   Transcript. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,   A.   L.   BUST,   62-58  Duane  Street,   New  Tork. 


8  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Girl  Neighbors ;  or,  The  Old  Fashion  and  the  New.     By 

Sarah  Tytlkr.    ]2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  |1.00. 
"One  of  the  most  effoctive  and  quietly  humorous  of  Miss  Tytler's  stories. 

V  'Girl  Neighbors'  is  a  pleasant  comedy,  not  so  much  of  errors  as  of  preju- 
dices pot  rid  of,  very  healthy,  very  agreeable,  and  very  well  written.  — 
Spectator. 

The  Little  Lame  Prince  and  His  Traveling  Cloak.     By 

Miss  Mulock.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"No  sweeter — that  is  the  proper  word — Christmas  story  for  the  little 
folks  could  easily  be  found,  and  it  is  as  delightful  for  older  readers  as 
well.  There  is  a  moral  to  it  which  the  reader  can  find  out  for  himself,  if 
he  chooses  to  thinli." — Cleveland  Herald. 

Little  Miss  Joy.     By  Emma  Marshall.     12mo,  cloth, 

illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

X"A  very  pleasant  and  instructive  story,  told  by  a  very  charming  writer 
In  such  an  attractive  way  as  to  win  favor  among  its  young  readers.  The 
illustrations  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  book." — TJtica  Herald. 

The  House  that  Grew.    A  Girl's  Story.    By  Mrs.  Moles- 
worth.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
*'This  is  a  very  pretty  story  of  English   life.     Mrs.   Molesworth  is  one 

of  the   most   popular  and   charming   of   English   story-writers   for  children. 

Her    child    characters    are    true    to    life,    always    natural    and    attractive, 

and  her  stories  are  wholesome  and  interesting." — Indianapolis  Journal. 

The   House   of   Surprises.     By   L.    T.  Meade.     12rao, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

y"A  charming  tale  of  charming  children,  who  are  naughty  enough  to  be 
interesting,  and  natural  enough  to  be  lovable;    and  very  prettily  their  story 
\-'     is   told.     The    quaintest   yet    most    natural    stories   of    child    life.      Simply 
delightful."— Vanity  Fair. 

The  Jolly  Ten:  and  their  Year  of  Stories.     By  Agnes 

Carr  Sage.    12nio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
)lC         The  story  of  a  band  of  cousins  who  were  accustomed   to  meet  at   the 
V^     "Pinery,"    with    "Aunt   Roxy."     At   her  fireside   they    play   merry   games, 

Y  have  suppers  flavored  with  innocent  fun,  and  listen  to  stories — I'nch  with 
Its  lesson  calculated  to  make  the  ten  not  less  jolly,  but  quickly  re- 
sponsive to  tlie  calls  of  duty  and  to  the  needs  of  others. 

Little  Miss  Dorothy.     The  Wonderful  Adventures  of 

Two  Little  People.    By  Martha  James.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75c. 

"This  is  a  charming  little  juvenile  story   from   the  pen  of  Mrs.   James, 

y      detailing    the    various   adventures   of    a    couple    of    young    children.     Their 

many    adventures    are    told    in    a    charming    manner,    and    the    book    will 

please  young  girls  and  boys." — Montreal  Star. 

Pen's   Venture.      A    Story    for    Girls.     By    Elvirton 

Wright.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
y        Something  Pen  saw  in  the  condition  of  the  cash  girls  In  a  certain  store 
/       gave  her  a  thought;    the  thought  became  a  plan;    the  plan  became  a  ven- 
ture— Pen's  venture.     It  is  amusing,  touching,  and  instructive  to  read  alwnt 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
i;ublisher,   A.  L.  BURT,   62-68  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  BUUT's  books  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  9 

FAIRY  BOOKS. 

The  Blue  Fairy  Book.    Edited  by  Andrew  Lang.    Pro- 
fusely illustrated,  12mo,  cloth,  price  $1.00. 
"The   talcs    are    simply    delightful.     No    amount   of   description    can   do 

them  justice.     The  only  way  is  to  read  the  book  through  from  cover  to 

cover." — Book  Reviev?. 

The  Green  Fairy  Book.     Edited  by  Andrew  Lang. 

Profusely  illustrated,  12mo,  cloth,  price  $1.00. 

"The  most  delightful  book  of  fairy  tales,  taking  form  and  contents  to- 
gether, ever  presented  to  children." — E.  S.  Hartland,  in  Folk-Lore. 

The  Yellow  Fairy  Book.     Edited  by  Andrew  Lang. 

Profusely  illustrated,  12mo,  cloth,  price  $1.00. 
"As  a  collection  of  fairy  tales  to  delight  children  of  all  ages,  it  ranks 
second  to  none." — Daily  Graphic. 

The  Red  Fairy  Book.     Edited  by  Andrew  Lang.    Pro- 
fusely illustrated,  12mo,  cloth,  price  $1.C0. 

"A  gift-book  that  will  charm  any  child,  and  all  older  folk,  who  have 
been  fortunate  enough  to  retain  their  taste  for  the  old  nursery  stories." — 
Literary  World. 

Celtic  Fairy  Tales.     Edited  by  Joseph  Jacobs.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"A  stock  of  delightful  little  narratives  gathered  chiefly  from  the  Celtic- 
speakiug  peasants  of  Ireland.  A  perfectly  lovely  book.  And  oh!  the 
wfjuderful  pictures  inside.  Get  this  book  if  you  can;  it  is  capital,  all 
through." — Pall  Mall  Budget. 

English  Fairy  Tales.     Edited  by  Joseph  Jacobs.  12ino, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  tales  are  simply  delightful.  No  amount  of  description  can  do 
them  justice.  The  only  way  is  to  read  the  book  through  from  cover  to 
cover.  The  book  is  intended  to  correspond  to  'Grimm's  Fairy  Tales,' 
and  it  must  be  allowed  that  Its  pages  fairly  rival  in  interest  those  of 
that  well-known  repository  of  folk-lore." — Morning  Herald. 

Indian  Fairy  Tales.     Edited  by  Joseph  Jacobs.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Mr.  Jacobs  brings  home  to  us  In  a  clear  and  intelligible  manner  the 
enormous  influence  which  'Indian  Fairy  Tales'  have  had  upon  European 
literature  of  the  kind.  The  present  combination  will  be  welcomed  not 
alone  by  the  little  ones  for  whom  It  Is  specially  combined,  but  also  by 
children  of  larger  growth   and  added  years." — Daily  Telegraph. 

Household   Fairy  Tales.     By  the  Brothers   Grimm. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"As  a  collection  of  fairy  tales  to  delight  children  of  all  ages  this 
work  ranks  second  to  none." — Daily  Graphic. 

Fairy  Tales  and  Stories.    By  Hans  Christian  Ander- 
sen.   12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"If  I  were  asked  to  select  a  child's  library  I  should  name  these  three 

volumes,    'English,'    'Celtic,'    and    'Indian    Fairy   Tales,'   with  Grimm  and 

Hans  Andersen's  Fairy  Tales." — Independent. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  52-58  Duana  Street,  New  York. 


10        A.  L.  r.URT^S  BOOKS  FOE  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

FAIRY  BOOKS. 

Popular  Fairy  Tales.    By  the  Beothees  Geimm.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"From  first  to  last,  almost  without  exception,  these  stories  are  delight- 
ful. ' ' — AthencDum. 

Icelandic  Fairy  Tales.    By  A.  W.  Hall.     12ino,  cloth, 

illustrated,  price  i)1.00. 

*'Th»!  most  delightful  book  of  fairy  tales,  taking  form  and  contents  to- 
gether, over  presented  i>  children.  The  whole  collection  Is  dramatic  and 
humorous.  A  more  desirable  child's  book  has  not  been  seen  for  many  a 
day." — Daily  News. 

Fairy  Tales  From  the  Far  North.     (Norwegian.)     By 

p.  C.  AsDJOKNSKN.     r^uio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.()0. 
"If  we  were  asked  what  present  would  make  a  child  happiest  at  Christ- 
mastide  we  thiuk  we  could  with   a  clear  conscience   j)oint  to  Mr.   Jacobs' 
book.     It  is  a  dainty  and  an  interesting  volume." — Notes  and  Queries. 

Cossack   Fairy   Tales.     By  E.    Nisbet    Bain.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"A  really  valuable  and  curious  selection  which  will  be  welcomed  by 
readers  of  all  apes.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  by  Mr.  Batten  are  often 
clever  and  irresistibly  humorous.  A  delight  alike  to  the  young  people 
and  their  elders." — Globe. 

The  Golden  Fairy  Book.    By  Vaeious  Authoes.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  most  delightful  book  of  its  kind  that  has  come  in  our  way  for 
many  a  day.  It  is  brimful  of  pretty  stories.  Retold  in  a  truly  delghtful 
manner." — Graphic. 

The  Silver  Fairy  Book.    By  Vaeious  Authoes.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  bonk  Is  intended  to  correspond  to  'Grimm's  Fairy  Tales,*  and  It 
must  be  allowed  that  its  pages  fairly  rival  in  interest  thost;  of  the  well- 
known  repository  of  folk-lore.  It  is  a  most  delightful  volume  of  fairy 
tales." — Courier. 

The  Brownies,  and  Other  Stories.    By  Juliana  Hoeatia 

EwiNG.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Like  all  the  books  she  has  written  this  one  is  very  charming,  and 
is  worth  more  in  the  hands  of  a  child  than  a  score  of  other  stories  of  a 
more    .sensational    character."— Christian    at    Work. 

The  Hunting  of  the  Snark.     An  Agony  in  Eight  Fits. 

By  Lewi.s  Carroll,  author  of  "AUce  in  Wonderland."    12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
trated, price  75  cents. 
"This  glorious  piece  of  nonsense.     .     .     .     Everybody  ought  to  read  It 

— nearly  everybody  will — and  all  who  deserve  the  treat  will  scream  with 

laughter." — Graphic. 

Lob   Lie-By-the-fire,   and   Other  Tales.    By  Juliana 

Horatio  Ewing.     12mo,  cloth,  illn.strated.  price  75  cents. 

"Mrs.  Ewlng  has  written  as  good  a  story  as  her  'Brownies,'  and  that 
fa  saying  a  great  deal.  'Lob  Ijle-bv-the-flre'  has  humor  and  pathos,  and 
teaches  what  is  right  without  making  children  think  they  are  reading  a 
sermon." — Saturday   Review.  ^ 

For  sale  by  all  bookstdlers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  tlio 
publisher,   A.   L.   BURT.   62-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


A,  L.  Burt*s  Catalogue  of  Books  for 
Young  People  by  Popular  Writers,  52- 
58  Duane  Street,  New  York   ^€   ^    >< 


BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Joe's  Luck:     A  Boy's  Adventures  in  California.    By 

Horatio  Alger,  Jr.    12uio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  ^1.00. 

The  story  is  chock  fall  of  stirrins;  incidents,  while  the  amusing  situ- 
ations are  furnished  by  Joshua  Bicliford,  from  Pumpkin  Hollow,  and  the 
fellow  who  modestly  styles  himself  the  •'Rip-tail  Roarer,  from  Pike  Co., 
Missouri."  Mr.  Aljror  never  writes  a  poor  book,  and  '"Joe's  Luck"  is  cer- 
tainly one  of  his  best. 

Tom   the   Bootblack;  or.    The   Eoad   to    Success.     By 

Horatio  Alger,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

A  bright,  enterprising  lad  was  Tom  the  Bootblack.  He  was  not  at  all 
ashamed  of  his  humble  calliufr,  though  always  on  the  lookout  to  better 
himself.  The  lad  started  for  Cincinnati  to  look  up  his  heritage.  Mr. 
Grey,  th-;  uuclc,  did  not  liesitate  to  employ  a  ruffian  to  kill  the  lad.  The 
plan  failed,  and  Gilbert  Grey,  once  Tom  the  bootblack,  came  into  a  com- 
fortable   fortune.     This   is   one   of    Mr.    Alger's   best   stories. 

Dan  the  Newsboy.     By    Horatio   Alger,   Jr.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  ^l.OO. 

Dan  Mordaunt  and  his  mother  live  in  a  poor  tenement,  and  the  lad  is 
pluckily  trying  to  make  ends  meet  by  selling  papers  in  the  streets  of  New 
York.  A  little  heiress  of  six  years  is  confided  to  the  care  of  the  Mor- 
daunts.  The  child  is  kidnapped  and  Dan  tracks  the  child  to  the  house 
where  she  is  hidden,  and  rescues  her.  The  wealthy  aunt  of  the  little 
heiress  is  so  delighted  v/ith  Dan's  courage  and  many  good  qualities 
that   she    adopts    him    as   her   heir. 

Tony  the  Hero:     A    Brave    Boy's    Adventure  with  a 

Tramp.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jk.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Tony,  a  sturdy  bright-eyed  boy  of  fourteen,  is  under  the  control  of 
Rudolph  Rugg,  a  thorough  rascal.  After  much  abuse  Touy  runs  away 
and  gets  a  job  as  stable  boy  in  a  country  hotel.  Tony  is  heir  to  a 
large  estate.  Rudolph  for  a  consideration  hunts  up  Tony  and  throws 
him  down  a  deep  well.  Of  course  Tony  escapes  from  the  fate  provided 
for  him,  and  by  a  brave  act,  a  rich  friend  secures  his  rights  and  Touy 
Is    prosperous.     A    very    entertaining    book. 

The  Errand  Boy;  or,  How  Phil  Brent  Won  Success. 

By  Horatio  Ai  geu,  Jr.     12iiio,  cloth  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Tlie  career  of  "The  Errand  Boy"  embraces  the  city  adventures  of  a 
emar^  country  lad.  Philip  was  brought  up  by  a  kind-hearted  innkeeper 
named  Brent.  The  death  of  Mrs.  Brent  paved  the  way  for  the  hero's 
subso(]uent  troubles.  A  retired  merchant  in  New  York  secures  him  the 
situation   of    errand    boy,    and    thereafter    stands   as   his   friend. 

Tom  Temple's  Career.     By  Horatio  Alger^  Jr.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  Sl-OO. 

Tom  Temple  is  a  bright,  self-reliant  lad.  He  leaves  Plympton  village 
to  seek  work  in  New  York,  whence  he  undertakes  an  important  mission 
to  California.  Some  of  his  adventures  in  the  far  west  are  so  startling  that 
the  reader  will  scarcely  close  the  book  until  the  last  page  shall  have  beeu 
reached.     The  tale  is  written  in  Mr.  Alger's  most  fascinating  style. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUKT,   52-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


2  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Frank  Fowler,  the  Cash  Boy.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

^       Frank    Fowler,    a    poor   boy,    bravely   determines   to   make   a   living   for 

X  hhrisolf    and    his    foster-sister    Grace.     Going    to    New    York    he    ol>tain8   a 

situation  as  cash  boy  in  a  dry  goods  store.     He   renders  a  service  to  a 

wealthy    old    gentleman    who    takes    a    fancy    to    the    lad,    and    thereafter 

helps    the    lad    to   gain    success    and    fortune. 

Tom  Thatcher's   Fortune.     By    Horatio    Alger^  Jr. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Sl-OO. 

Tom  Thatcher  is  a  brave,  ambitious,  unselfish  boy.  He  sapports  his 
mother  and  sister  on  meagre  wages  earned  as  a  shoe-pegger  in  John 
.Simpson's  factory.  Tom  is  discharged  from  the  factory  and  starts  over- 
land for  California.  He  meets  with  many  adventures.  The  story  is  told 
in  a  way  which  has  made  Mr.  Alger's  name  a  household  word  in  so  many 
homes. 

The  Train    Boy.    By    Horatio    Alger,    Jr.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Paul  Palmer  was  a  wide-awake  boy  of  sixteen  who  supported  hi8  mother 
and  sister  by  selling  books  and  papers  on  the  Chicago  and  Milwaukee 
Railroad.  He  detects  a  young  man  in  the  act  of  picking  the  pocket  of  a 
V  young  lady.  In  a  railway  accident  many  passengers  are  killed,  but  Paul 
is  fortunate  enough  to  assist  a  Chicago  merchant,  who  out  of  gratitude 
takes  him  Into  his  employ.  Paul  succeeds  with  tact  and  judgment  and 
Is  well   started  on   the   road   to   business  prominence. 

Mark  Mason's  Victory.    The  Trials  and  Triumphs  of 

a  Telegraph  Boy.    By  Horatio  Alqeb,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price 

$1.00. 

Mark  Mason,  the  telegraph  boy,  was  a  sturdy,  honest  lad,  who  pluckily 
won  his  way  to  success  by  his  honest  manly  efforts  under  many  diffi- 
culties. This  story  will  please  the  very  large  class  of  boys  who  regard 
Mr.    Alger  as   a   favorite  author. 

A.  Debt  of  Honor.    The  Story  of  Gerald  Lane's  Success 

in  the  Far  West.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price 

$1.00. 

The  story  of  Gerald  Lane  and  the  account  of  the  many  trials  and  dis- 
appointments which  he  passed  through  befoi  he  attained  success,  will 
Interest  all  boys  who  have  read  the  previous  stories  of  this  delightful 
author. 

Ben  Bruce.     Scenes  in  the  Life  of  a  Bowery  Newsboy. 

By  Horatio  Algkr,  Jr.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
Ben  Bruce  was  a  brave,  manly,  generous  boy.     The  story  of  his  efforts, 
"K  and  many  seeming  failures  and  disappointments,  and  his  final  success,  are 
most    interesting    to    all    readers.     The    tale    is    written    in    Mr.    Alger's 
most  fascinating  style. 

The  Castaways;  or,  On  the  Florida  Eeefs.    By  James 

Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

This  tale  smacks  of  the  salt  sea.  From  the  moment  that  the  Sea 
Queen  leaves  lower  New  York  bay  till  the  breeze  leaves  her  becalmed  off 
the  coast  of  Florida,  one  can  almost  hear  the  whistle  of  the  wind 
through  her  rigging,  the  creak  of  her  straining  cordage  as  she  heels  to 
the  leeward.  The  adventures  of  Ben  Clark,  the  hero  of  the  storv  and 
Jake  the  cook,  cannot  fail  to  charm  the  reader.  As  a  writer  for  young 
people   Mr.    Otis   Is   a   prime   favorite. ^^^^^ 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUBT,  62-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  BUET'S  books  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  3 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Wrecked  on  Spider  Island;  or.  How  Ned  Rogers  Found 

the  Treasuie.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Ned  Rogers,  a  "down-east"  plucky  lad  ships  as  cabin  boy  to  earn 
a  livelihood.  Ned  is  marooned  on  Spider  Island,  and  while  there  dis- 
covers a  wreck  submerged  in  the  sand,  and  finds  a  considerable  amount 
of  treasure.  The  capture  of  the  treasure  and  the  incidents  of  the 
voyage  serve  to  make  as  entertaining  a  story  of  sea-life  as  the  most 
captious    boy    could    desire. 

The  Search  for  the  Silver  City :  A  Tale  of  Adventure  in 

Yucatan.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  %1.(X). 

Two  lads,  Teddy  Wright  and  Neal  Emery,  embark  on  the  steam 
yacht  Day  Dream  for  a  cruise  to  the  tiopics.  The  yacht  is  destroyed 
by  fire,  and  then  the  boat  is  cast  upon  the  coast  of  Yucatan.  They 
bear  of  the  wonderful  Silver  City,  of  the  Chan  Santa  Cruz  Indians, 
and  with  the  help  of  a  faithful  Indian  ally  carry  off  a  number  of  the 
golden  images  from  the  temples.  Pursued  with  relentless  vigor  at  last 
their  escape  is  effected  in  an  astouishing  manner.  The  story  is  so 
full  of  exciting  incidents  that  the  reader  is  quite  carried  away  with 
the   novelty    and    realism   of   the   narrative. 

A    Runaway    Brig;  or,    An    Accidental    Cruise.      By 

James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

This  is  a  sea  tale,  and  the  reader  can  look  out  upon  the  wide  shimmer- 
ing sea  as  it  flashes  back  the  sunlight,  and  imagine  himself  afloat  with 
Harry  Vandyne,  Walter  Morse,  Jim  Libby  and  that  old  shell-back,  Bob 
Brace,  on  the  brig  Bonita.  The  boys  discover  a  mysterious  document 
which  enables  them  to  find  a  buried  treasure.  They  are  stranded  on 
an  island  and  at  last  are  rescued  with  the  treasure.  The  boys  are  sure 
to  be  fascinated  with  this  entertaining  story. 

The     Treasure     Finders:      A    Boy's    Adventures    in 

Nicaragua.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

Roy  and  Dean  Coloney,  with  their  guide  Tongla,  leave  their  father's 
Indigo  plantation  to  visit  the  wonderful  ruins  of  an  ancient  city.  The 
boys  eagerly  explore  the  temples  of  an  extinct  race  and  discover  three 
golden  images  cunningly  hidden  away.  They  escape  with  the  greatest 
difliculty.  Eventually  they  reach  safety  with  their  golden  prizes.  We 
doubt  if  there  ever  was  written  a  more  entertainrng  story  than  "The 
Treasure    Finders." 

Jack,  the  Hunchback.    A  Story  of  the  Coast  of  Maine. 

By  James  Otis.    Price  $1.00. 

^       This   is  the  story  of  a  little  hunchback  who  lived  on  Cape  Elizabeth, 

y^  on    the    coast    of    Maine.     His   trials   and    successes   are    most    Interesting. 

From  first  to  last  nothing  stays  the  interest  of  the  narrative.     It  bears  us 

iilong  as  on  a  stream  whose  current  varies  in  direction,   but  never  loses 

its    force. 

With  Washington  at  Monmouth:    A   Story  of   Three 

Philadelphia   Boys.     By  James  Otis.     12mo,   ornamental  cloth,   olivine 

edges,  illustrated,  price  $1.50. 

Three  Philadelphia  lads  assist  the  American  spies  and  make  regular 
and  frequent  visits  to  Valley  Forge  in  the  Winter  while  the  British 
occupied  the  city.  The  story  abounds  with  pictures  of  Colonial  life 
skillfully  drawn,  and  the  glimpses  of  Washington's  soldiers  which  are 
given  shown  that  the  work  has  not  been  hastily  done,  or  without  con- 
siderable study.  The  story  is  wholesome  and  patriotic  in  tone,  as  are 
all    of    Mr.    Otis'    works. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.   BXJET,   52-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


4  A.  L.  BURT^S  DOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYsi 

With  Lafayette  at  Yorktown:  A  Story  of  How  Two 

Boys  Joined  the  Continental  Army.    By  James  Otis,    12mo,  ornamental 

cloUi,  olivine  edj^es,  illustrated,  price  $1.50. 

Two  lads  from  Portm»uth,  N.  H.,  attempt  to  enlist  In  the  Colonial 
Army,  and  are  givf-n  employment  as  spies.  There  is  no  lack  of  exciting 
incidents  which  the  youthful  reader  craves,  but  It  is  healthful  excite- 
ment brimming  with  facts  which  every  boy  should  be  familiar  with, 
and  while  the  reader  is  following  the  advt'iitures  of  Ben  Jaffrays  and 
Ned  Allen  he  Is  ^acquiring  a  fund  of  historical  lore  which  will  remain 
in  hi.s  memory  h)iig  after  that  which  he  has  memorized  from  text- 
books   has    been    forgotten. 

At  the  Siege  of  Havana.     Being  the  Experiences  of 

Three  Boys  Serving  under  Isiael  Putnam  in  1762.    By  James  Otis.    12mo, 

ornamental  cloth,  olivine  edges,  illu.strated,  price  $1.50. 
"At    the    Siege    of    Havana"    deals    with    that    portion   of    the    island's 
history    when    the    English    king    captured    the    capital,     thanks    to    the 
assistance   given   by   the   troops  from   New   England,   led   In   part   by  Col. 
Israel    Putnam. 

The  principal  characters  are  Darius  Lunt,  the  lad  who,  represented  as 
telling  the  story,  and  his  comrades,  Robert  Clement  and  Nicholas 
Valltt.  Colonel  Putnam  also  figures  to  considerable  extent,  necessarily, 
In  th(>  tale,  and  the  whole  forms  one  of  the  most  readable  stories  founded  on 
historical    facts. 

The  Defense  of  Fort  Henry.      A  Story  of  Wheeling 

Creek  in  1777.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  ornamental  cloth,  olivine  edges, 

illustrated,  price  $1.50. 

Nowhere  In  the  historj  of  our  country  can  be  found  more  heroic  or 
thrilling  Incidents  than  in  the  story  of  those  brave  men  and  women 
who  founded  the  settlement  of  Wheeling  in  the  Colony  of  Virginia.  The 
recital  of  what  Elizabeth  Zane  did  is  in  itself  as  heroic  a  story  as  can 
be  imagined.  The  wondrous  bravery  displayed  by  Major  McCuUoth 
and  his  gallant  comrades,  the  sufferings  of  the  colonists  and  their  sacrifice 
of  blood  and  life,  .stir  the  blood  of  old  as  well  as  young  readers. 

The  Capture  of  the  Laughing  Mary.    A  Story  of  Three 

New  York  Boys  in  1776.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  ornamental  cloth,  olivine 

edges,  price  $1.50. 

"During  the  British  occupancy  of  New  York,  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Revolution,  a  Yankee  lad  hears  of  the  plot  to  take  General  Washington's 
person,  and  calls  in  two  companions  to  assist  the  patriot  cause.  They 
do  some  astonishing  things,  and.  Incidentally,  lay  the  way  for  an 
American  navy  later,  by  the  exploit  which  gives  Its  name  to  the 
work.  Mr.  Otis'  books  are  too  well  known  to  reQuIre  any  particular 
commendation  to  the  young." — Evening  Post. 

With  Warren  at  Bunker  Hill.    A  Story  of  the  Siege  of 

Boston.     By  James  Otis.     12mo,  ornametnal  cloth,  olivine  edges,  illus- 
trated, price  81.50. 

"This  Is  a  tale  of  the  slejre  of  Boston,  which  opens  on  the  day  after 
the  doings  at  Lexington  and  Concord,  with  a  description  of  home  life 
In  Boston,  Introduces  the  reader  to  the  British  camp  at  Charlestown, 
shows  (ten.  Warren  at  home,  describes  what  a  boy  thought  of  the 
battle  of  BuBker  Hill,  and  ch)3e8  with  the  raising  of  the  siege.  The 
three  heroes,  (George  Wentworth,  Ben  Scarlett  and  an  old  ropemaker. 
Incur  the  enmity  of  a  young  T(»ry,  who  causes  them  many  adventures 
the  boys  will  like  to  read." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

For  sale  l>y  all  bookselh  rs.  or  <5eut  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  tho 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUST,  62-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  Burt's  books  fok  young  people.       5 
BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

With  the  Swamp  Fox.     The  Story  of  General  Marion's 

Spies.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  i$1.00. 

This  story  deals  with  General  Francis  Marion's  heroic  struggle  in  the 
Carolinas.  General  Marion's  arrival  to  take  command  of  these  brave 
men  and  rough  riders  is  pictured  as  a  boy  might  have  seen  it,  and 
although  the  story  is  devoted  to  what  the  lads  did,  the  Swamp  Fox 
is    ever    present    in    the    mind    of    the    reader. 

On  the  Kentucky  Frontier.     A  Story  of  the  Fighting 

Pioneers  of  the  West.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 

In  the  history  of  our  country  there  is  no  more  thrilling  story  than 
that  of  the  wortc  done  on  the  Mississippi  river  by  a  handful  of  frontiers- 
men. Mr.  Otis  taiies  the  reader  on  that  famous  expedition  from  the 
arrival  of  Major  Clarke's  force  at  Corn  Island,  until  Kasliaskia  was 
captured.  He  relates  that  part  of  Simon  Kenton's  life  history  which 
is  not  usually  touched  upon  either  by  the  historian  or  the  story  tclUT. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  books  for  young  people  which  has 
been    published. 

Sarah  Dillard's  Ride.      A   Story  of   South   Carolina  in 

in  1780.    By  James  Otis.     i2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Sl.OO. 

"This  book  deals  with  the  C  .rolinas  in  1780,  giving  a  wealth  of  detail  of 
the  Mountain  Men  who  struggled  so  valiantly  against  the  king's  troops. 
Major  Ferguson  is  the  prominent  British  officer  of  the  story,  which  is 
told  as  though  coming  from  a  youth  who  experienced  these  adventures. 
In  this  way  the  famous  ride  of  Sarah  Dillard  is  brought  out  as  an 
Incident  of  the  plot." — Boston  Journal, 

A  Tory  Plot.     A  Story  of  the  Attempt  to  Kill  General 

Wasliint<ton.    By  James  Otis.    ]2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"  'A  Tory  Plot'  is  the  story  of  two  lads  who  overhear  something 
of  the  plot  originated  during  the  Revolution  by  Gov.  Tryon  to  capture 
or  murder  Washington.  They  communicate  their  knowledge  to  Gen. 
Putnam  and  are  commissioned  by  him  to  play  the  role  of  detectives 
in  the  matter.  They  do  so,  and  meet  with  many  adventures  and  hair- 
breadth escapes.  The  boys  are,  of  course,  mythical,  but  they  serve  to  en- 
able the  author  to  put  into  very  attractive  shape  much  valuable  knowledge 
concerning  one  phase  of  the  Revolution." — Pittsburgh  Times. 

A  Traitor's  Escape.     A  Story  of  the  Attempt  to  Seize 

Benedict  Arnold     By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  is  a  tale  with  stirring  scenes  depicted  in  each  chapter,  bringing 
clearly  before  the  mind  the  glorious  deeds  of  the  early  settlers  in  this 
country.  In  an  historical  work  dealing  with  this  country's  past,  no 
plot  can  hold  the  attention  closer  than  this  one,  which  describes  tlie 
attempt  and  partial  success  of  Benedict  Arnold's  escape  to  New  York, 
where  he  remained  as  the  guest  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  All  those  who 
actually  figured  in  the  arrest  of  the  traitor,  as  well  as  Gen.  Washing- 
ton, are  included  as  characters." — Albany  Union. 

A  Cruise  with  Paul  Jones.     A  Story  of  Naval  Warfare 

in  1776.    By  James  Otis.     ISnio.  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  story  takes  up  that  portion  of  Paul  Jones'  adventurous  life 
when  he  was  hovering  off  the  British  coast,  watching  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  strike  the  enemy  a  blow.  It  deals  more  particularly  with 
his  descent  upon  Whitehaven,  the  seizure  of  Lady  Selkirk's  plate,  and 
the  famous  battle  with  the  Drake.  The  boy  who  figures  in  the  tale 
Is  one  who  was  taken  from  a  derelict  by  Paul  Jones  shortly  after  this 
particular  cruise  was  begun." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


l'''>r  sale  by  all  booksellers,   or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by   the 
publisher.  A.  L.  BUST,  52-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


(>  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Corporal  Lige's  Recruit.    A  Story  of  Crown  Point  and 

Ticonderoga.    By  James  Otis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  ^1,00. 

"In  'Corporal  Lige's  Recruit,'  Mr.  Otis  tells  the  amusinsr  story  of  an 
old  soldier,  proud  of  his  record,  who  had  served  the  king  In  '58,  and  who 
talces  the  lad,  Isaac  Bice,  as  his  'personal  recruit.'  The  lad  acquits 
himself  superbly.  Col.  Ethan  Allen  'in  the  name  of  God  and  the  con- 
tinental congress,'  infuses  much  martial  spirit  into  the  narrative,  which 
will  arouse  the  keenest  interest  as  it  proceeds.  Crown  Point.  Ticon- 
deroga, Benedict  Arnold  and  numerous  other  famous  historical  name* 
appear  in  this  dramatic  tale." — Boston  Globe. 

Morgan,  the  Jersey  Spy.  A  Storj^  of  the  Siege  of  York- 
town  in  1781.  By  James  Otis.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"The  two  lads  who  are  utilized  by  the  author  to  emphasize  the  details 
of  the  work  done  during  that  memorable  time  were  real  boys  who  lived 
on  the  banks  of  the  York  river,  and  who  aided  the  Jersey  spy  in  his 
dangerous  occupation.  In  the  guise  of  fishermen  the  lads  visit  York- 
town,  are  suspected  of  being  spies,  and  put  under  arrest.  Morgan  risks 
his  life  to  save  them.  The  final  escape,  the  thrilling  encounter  with  a 
squad  of  red  coats,  when  they  are  exposed  equally  to  the  bullets  of 
friends  and  foes,  told  in  a  masterly  fashion,  makes  of  this  volume  one 
of  the  most  entertaining  books  of  the  year." — Inter-Ocean. 

The  Young  Scout:     The  Story  of  a  West  Point  Lieu- 

tenant.    By  Edward  S.  Ellis.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Si. 00. 

The  crafty  Apache  chief  Geronimo  but  a  few  years  ago  was  the 
most  terrible  scourge  of  the  southwest  border.  The  author  has  woven, 
in  a  tale  of  thrilling  interest,  all  the  incidents  of  Geronimo's  last  raid. 
The  hero  is  Lieutenant  James  Decker,  a  recent  graduate  of  West  Point. 
Ambitious  to  distinguish  himself  the  young  man  takes  many  a  desperate 
chance  against  the  enemy  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  narrowly 
escapes  with  his  life.  In  our  opinion  Mr.  Ellis  is  the  best  writer  of 
Indian    stories    now    before    the    public. 

Adrift  in  the  Wilds:  The  Adventures  of  Two  Ship- 
wrecked Boy?.  By  Edward  S.  Ellis.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
Elwood  Brandon  and  Howard  Lawrence  are  en  route  for  San  Fran- 
cisco. Off  the  coast  of  California  the  steamer  takes  fire.  The  two  boyf 
reach  the  shore  with  several  of  the  passengers.  Young  Brandon  \h>- 
comes  separated  from  his  party  and  is  captured  by  hostile  Indians, 
but  is  afterwards  rescued.  This  is  a  very  entertaining  narrative  of 
Southern    California. 

A.  Young  Hero;  or,  Fighting  to  Win.    By  Edward  S. 

Elijs.    ISmo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  §1.00. 

This  story  tells  how  a  valuable  solid  silver  service  was  stolen  from 
the  Misses  Perkiupine,  two  very  old  and  simple  minded  ladles.  Fred 
Sheldon,  the  hero  of  this  story,  undertakes  to  discover  the  thieves  and 
have  them  arrested.  After  much  time  spent  In  detective  work,  he 
succeeds  in  discovering  the  silver  plate  and  winning  the  reward.  The 
story  is  told  In  Mr.  Ellis'  most  fascinating  style.  Every  boy  will  be 
glad   to  read   this  delightful   book. 

Lost  in  the  Rockies.     A  Story  of  Adventure  in  the 

Rocky  Mountains.    By  Edward  S.  Ellis.    12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  fl. 

Incident  succeeds  incident,  and  adventure  Is  piled  opon  adventnre, 
and  at  the  end  the  reader,  be  he  boy  or  man,  will  have  experienced 
breathless  enjoyment  In  this  romantic  story  describing  many  adventures  in 
the  Rockies  and  among  the  Indians. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.   L.   BUBT,   62-68  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  7 

BOOKS  FOR  boys] 

A  Jaunt  Through  Java:    The  Story  of  a  Journey  to 

the  Sacred  Mountain.    By  Edward  S.  Ellis.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 

price  $1.00. 

The  interest  of  this  story  is  found  in  the  thrilling  adventures  of 
two  cousins,  Hermon  and  Eustace  Hadley,  on  their  trip  acrosss  the  island 
of  Java,  from  Samarang  to  the  Sacred  Mountain.  In  a  land  where  the 
Royal  Bengal  tiger,  the  rhinoceros,  and  other  fierce  beasts  are  to  be 
met  with,  it  is  but  natural  that  the  heroes  of  this  book  should  have  a 
lively  experience.     There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the  book. 

The  Boy  Patriot.     A  Story  of  Jack,  the  Young  Friend 

of  Washington.    By  Edward  S.  Ellis.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  illus- 
trated, price  $1.50. 

"There  are  adventures  of  all  kinds  for  the  hero  and  his  friends,  whose 
pluck  and  ingenuity  in  extricating  themselves  from  awkward  fixes  are 
always  equal  to  the  occasion.  It  is  an  excellent  story  full  of  honest, 
manly,  patriotic  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  hero.  A  very  vivid  description 
of  the  battle  of  Trenton  is  also  found  in  this  story." — Journal  of 
Education. 

A  Yankee  Lad's  Pluck.     How  Bert  Larkin  Saved  his 

Father's  Ranch  in  Porto  Rico.    By  Wm.  P.  Chipman.    12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
y,       trated,  price  $1.00. 

"Bert  Larkin,  the  hero  of  the  story,  early  excites  our  admiration, 
and  is  altogether  a  fine  character  such  as  boys  will  delight  in,  whilst 
the  story  of  his  numerous  adventures  is  very  graphically  told.  This 
will,  we  think,  prove  one  of  the  most  popular  boys'  books  this  season." — 
Gazette. 

A  Brave  Defense.     A   Story  of  the   Massacre  at   Fort 

Grlswold  in  1781.    By  William  P.  Chipman.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price 

$1.00. 

Perhaps  no  more  gallant  fight  against  fearful  odds  took  place  during 
the  Revolutionary  War  than  that  at  Fort  Griswold,  Groton  Heights,  Conn., 
in  1781.  The  boys  are  real  boys  who  were  actually  on  the  muster  rolls, 
either  at  Port  Trumbull  on  the  New  London  side,  or  of  Fort  Griswold  on 
the  Groton  side  of  the  Thames.  The  youthful  reader  who  follows  Halsey 
Sanford  and  Levi  Dart  and  Tom  Malleson,  and  their  equally  brave  com- 
rades, through  their  thrilling  adventures  will  be  learning  something  more 
than  historical  facts;  they  will  be  imbibing  lessons  of  fidelity,  of  bravery, 
of  heroism,  and  of  manliness,  which  must  prove  serviceable  in  the  arena 
of   life. 

The  Young  Minuteman.     A  Story  of  the  Capture  of 

General  Prescott  in  1777.    By  William  P.  Chipman.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 

price  $1.00. 

This  story  is  based  upon  actual  events  which  occurred  during  the  British 
occupation  of  the  waters  of  Narragansett  Bay.  Darius  Wale  and  William 
Northrop  belong  tO|  "the  coast  patrol."  The  story  is  a  strong  one,  dealing 
only  with  actual  events.  There  is,  however,  no  lack  of  thrilling  adventure, 
and  every  lad  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  the  book  will  find  not 
only  that  his  historical  knowledge  is  increased,  but  that  his  own  patriotism 
and  love  of  country  are  deepened. 

For  the  Temple:     A  Tale  of  the  Fall  of  Jerusalem. 

By  G.  A.  ITenty.  With  illustrations  by  S.  J.  Solomon.  12mo,  cloth,  olivine 
edges,  price  Sl.OO. 

"Mr.  Henty's  graphic  prose  picture  of  the  hopeless  Jewish  resistance 
to  Roman  sway  adds  another  leaf  to  his  record  of  the  famous  wars  of 
the  world.     The  book  is  one  of  Mr.   Henty's  cleverest  efforts." — Graphic. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,   A.   L.   BURT,   52-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


8  A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOB  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Roy  Gilbert's  Search :     A  Tale  of  the  Great  Lakes.    By 

Wm.  p.  Chipman.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1-00. 

A  deep  mystery  hangs  over  the  parentage  of  Roy  Gilbert.  He  arranges 
with  two  schoolmates  to  make  a  tour  of  the  Great  Lakes  on  a  steam 
launch.  The  three  boys  visit  many  points  of  interest  on  the  lakes. 
Afterwards  the  lads  rescue  an  elderly  gentleman  and  a  lady  from  a  sink- 
ing yacht.  Later  on  the  boys  narrowlj'  escape  with  their  lives.  The 
hero  Is  a  manly,  self-reliant  boy,  whose  adventures  will  be  followed 
with    interest. 

The  Slate  Picker:     The  Story  of  a  Boy's  Life  in  the 

Coal  Mines.    By  Harry  Prentick.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  SlW. 

This  is  a  story  of  a  boy's  life  in  the  coal  mines  of  Pennsylvania. 
Ben  Burton,  the  hero,  had  a  hard  road  to  travel,  but  by  grit  and  energy 
he  advanced  step  by  step  until  he  found  himself  called  upon  to  fill  the 
position  of  chief  engineer  of  the  Kohinoor  Coal  Company.  This  is  a 
book  of  extreme   interest   to  every   boy   reader. 

The  Boy  Cruisers;  or,  Paddling  in  Florida.     By  St. 

George  Rathborne.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00 
Andrew  George  and  Rowland  Carter  start  on  a  canoe  trip  along  the 
Gulf  coast,  from  Key  West  to  Tampa,  Florida.  Their  first  adventure 
is  with  a  pair  of  rascals  who  steal  their  boats.  Next  they  run  into 
a  gale  in  the  Gulf.  After  that  they  have  a  lively  time  with  alli- 
gators and  Andrew  gets  into  trouble  with  a  band  of  Seminole  Indians. 
Mr.  Rathborne  knows  just  how  to  interest  the  boys,  and  lads  who  are 
In  search  of  a  rare  treat  will  do  well  to  read  this  entertaining  story. 

Captured  by  Zulus:     A  Story  of  Trapping  in  Africa. 

By  Harry  Prentice.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

This  story  details  the  adventures  of  two  lads,  Dick  Elsworth  and  Bob 
Harv<-y,  in  the  wilds  of  South  Africa.  By  stratagem  the  Zulus  capture. 
Dick  and  Bob  and  take  them  to  their  principal  kraal  or  village.  The 
lads  escape  death  by  dig  ing  their  way  out  of  the  prison  hut  by  night. 
They  are  pursued,  but  the  Zulus  finally  give  up  pursuit.  Mr.  Prentice 
tells  exactly  how  wild-beast  collectors  secure  specimens  on  their  native 
stamping  grounds,   and  these  descriptions  make  very  entertaining  re"dlng. 

Tom  the  Ready;  or,  Up  from  the  Lowest.  By  Ran- 
dolph Hill.    ISino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Si. 00. 

This  is  a  dramatic  narrative  of  the  unaided  rise  of  a  fearless,  ambi- 
tious boy  from  the  lowest  round  of  fortune's  ladder  to  wealth  and  the 
governorship  of  his  native  State.  Tom  Seacomb  begins  life  with  a  pur- 
pose, and  eventually  overcomes  those  who  oppose  him.  How  he  manages 
to  win  the  battle  is  told  by  Mr.  Hill  In  a  raasterfr'  way  that  thrills 
the  reader  and  holds  his  attention  and  sympathy  to  the  end. 

Captain  Kidd's  Gold:  The  True  Story  of  an  Adven- 
turous Sailor  Boy.  By  James  Franklin  Fitts.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 
price  $1.00. 

There  Is  something  fascinating  to  the  average  youth  in  the  very  Idea 
of  burled  treasure.  A  vision  arises  before  his  eyes  of  swarthy  Portu- 
guese and  Spanish  rascals,  with  black  beards  and  gleaming  eyes.  There 
were  many  famous  sea  rovers,  but  none  more  celebrated  than  Capt.  Kldd. 
Paul  Jones  Garry  inherits  a  document  which  locates  a  considerable 
treasure  burled  by  two  of  Kidd's  crew.  The  hero  of  this  book  Is  an 
ambitious,  persevering  lad,  of  salt-water  New  England  ancestry,  and  his 
efforts  to  reach  the  Island  and  secure  the  money  form  one  of  the  most 
absorbing    tales   for   our   youth    that   has   come   from    the    press. ___ 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUBT,  62-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.  9 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS, 

The  Boy  Explorers:     The  Adventures  of  Two  Boys  in 

Alaska.    By  Habuy  Puentice.    l2uio,  cloth,  illust'-ated,  price  $1.00. 

Two  bojs,  Raymond  and  Spencor  Manning,  travrl  to  Alaska  to  join 
their  father  in  search  of  thoir  uncle.  On  their  arrival  at  Sitlca  tlie  boja 
with  an  Indian  guide  set  off  across  the  mountains.  The  trip  is  fraught 
with  perils  that  test  the  lads'  courar  ;  to  the  utmost.  All  through  their 
exciting  adventures  the  lads  demonstrate  what  can  be  accomplished  by 
pluck  and  resolution,  and  their  experience  makes  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting   tales    ever    written. 

The    Island    Treasure;    or,    Harry    Barrel's    Fortune. 

By  Frank  H.  Converse.  V2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00 
Harry  Darrel,  having  received  a  nautical  training  on  a  school-ship,  is 
bent  on  going  to  sea.  A  runaway  horse  changes  his  prospects.  Harry 
saves  Dr.  Gregg  from  drowning  and  afterward  becomes  sailing-master 
of  a  sloop  yacht.  Mr.  Converse's  stories  possess  a  charm  of  their  own 
which  is  appreciated  by  lads  who  delight  in  good  healthy  tales  that 
smack    of    salt    water. 

Guy  Harris:     The  Eunaway.     By  Harry  Castlemon. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  ^1.00. 

Guy  Harris  lived  in  a  small  city  on  the  shore  of  one  of  the  Great 
Lakes.  He  is  persuaded  to  go  to  sea,  and  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  rough 
side  of  life  in  a  sailor's  boarding  house.  He  sliips  on  a  vessel  and  for 
five  months  leads  a  hard  life.  The  book  will  interest  boys  generally 
on  account  of  its  graphic  style.  This  is  one  of  Castlemon's  most  attract- 
ive  stories. 

Julian  Mortimer:     A  Brave  Boy's  Struggle  for  Home 

and  Fortune.    By  Harry  Castlemon.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 

The  scene  of  the  story  lies  west  of  the  Mississippi  River,  in  the  days 
when  emigrants  made  their  perilous  way  across  the  great  plains  to  the 
land  of  gold.  There  is  an  attack  upon  tiie  wagon  train  by  a  large  party 
of  Indians.  Our  hero  is  a  'ad  of  uncommon  nerve  and  pluck.  Befriended 
by  a  stalwart  trapper,  a  real  rough  diamond,  our  hero  achieves  the  most 
happy  results. 

By  Pike  and  Dyke:     A  Tale  of  the  Eise  of  the  Dutch 

Republic.     By  G.   A.   Henty.    With   illustrations   by    Maynard    Biuiwn. 

12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Boys  with  a  turn  for  historical  research  will  be  enchanted  with  the 
book,  while  the  rest  who  oidy  care  for  adventure  will  be  students  in  spite 
of   themselves." — St.    James's   Gazette. 

St.  George  for  England:  A  Tale  of  Cressy  and  Poi- 
tiers. By  G.  A.  TIenty.  With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.  12mo, 
cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"A  story  of  very  great  interest  for  boys.  In  his  own  forcible  style 
the  author  has  endeavored  to  show  that  determination  and  enthusiasm 
can  accomplish  marvellous  results;  and  that  courage  is  generally  accom- 
panied  by   magnanimity   and  gentleness." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Captain  Bayley's  Heir:     A  Tale  of  the  Gold  Fields  of 

California.    By  (t.  A.  Henty.    Wi;h  illustrations  bj'  H.  M.  Paget,    l^nio^ 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  SI. 00. 

"Mr.  Henty  is  careful  to  mingle  Instruction  with  entertainment;  and 
the  humorous  touches,  especially  in  the  sketch  of  John  Holl,  the  West- 
minster dustman,  Dickens  himself  could  hardly  have  excelled." — Chris- 
tian Leader. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  tho 
publisher,   A.   L.  BTJRT,   52-68  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


10        A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS^ 

Budd  Boyd's  Triumph;  or.  The  Boy  Finn  of  Fox  Island. 

By  William  P.  Chipman.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  on  the  upper  part  of  Narragansett  Bay, 
and  the  IcailiiiK  incidents  have  a  strong  salt-water  flavor.  The  two 
boys,  Budd  Boyd  and  Judd  Floyd,  being  ambitious  and  clear  sighted, 
form  a  partnership  to  catch  and  sell  fish.  Budd's  pluck  and  good  sense 
carry  him  through  many  troubles.  In  I'Dllowing  the  career  of  the  l»oy 
firm  of  Boyd  &  Floyd,  the  youthful  reader  will  find  a  useful  lesson — 
that  industry  and  persr-veranco  are  bound  to  lead  to  ultimate  success. 

Lost  in  the  Canyon :     Sam  Willett's  Adventures  on  the 

Great  Colorado.  By  Alfred  R.  Calhoun.  12ino,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1, 
This  story  hinges  on  a  fortune  left  to  Sam  WUlett,  the  hero,  and  the 
fact  that  it  will  pass  to  a  disreputable  relative  if  the  lad  dies  before 
he  shall  have  reached  his  majority.  The  story  of  his  father's  peril  and 
of  Sam's  desperate  trip  down  the  great  canyon  on  a  raft,  and  how  the 
party  linally  «'Soape  from  their  perils  is  described  in  a  graphic  style 
that"  stamps  Mr.   Calhoun  as  a   master  of  his  art. 

Captured  by  Apes :     The  Wonderful  Adventures  of  a 

Younj?  Animal  Trainer.    By  Harry  Prentice.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated- 

price  $1.00. 

Philip  Garland,  a  young  animal  collector  and  trainer,  sets  sail  for 
Eastern  seas  in  quest  of  a  new  stock  of  living  curiosities.  The  vessel 
is  wrecked  off  the  coast  of  Borneo,  and  young  (Jarland  is  cast  ashore 
on  a  small  island,  and  cautured  by  the  apt^s  that  overruu  the  place. 
Very  novel  Indeed  is  the  way  by  which  the  young  man  escapes  death. 
Mr.   Prentice  Is  a  writer  of  undoubted  skill. 

Under  Drake's  Flag:     A  Tale  of  the  Spanish  Main. 

By  G,  A.  IIenty.     With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.     12mo,  cloth, 

olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  chapter,  nor,  Indeed,  a  dull  page  In  the  boob;  but 
the  author  has  so  carefully  worked  up  his  subject  that  the  exciting 
deeds  of  his  heroes  are  never  incongruous  nor  absurd." — Observer. 

By  Sheer  Pluck:     A  Tale  of  the  Ashanti  War.     By 

G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine 

edges,  price  SI  00. 

The  author  has  woven,  in  a  tale  of  thrilling  interest,  all  the  details 
of  the  Ashanti  campaign,  of  which  he  was  himself  a  witness. 

"Mr.  llenty  keeps  up  his  reputation  as  a  writer  of  boys'  stories.  'By 
Sheer  Pluck'   will  be  eagerly  read." — ^Athenseum. 

With  Lee  in  Virginia:     A  Story  of  the  American  Civil 

War.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.    12mo, 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  ^\.(K\ 

"One  of  the  best  stories  for  lads  which  Mr.  Henty  has  yet  written. 
The  picture  is  full  of  life  and  color,  and  the  stirring  and  romantic  inci- 
dents are  skillfully  blended  with  the  persoual  iuterest  and  charm  of  the 
story. '  * — Standard. 

By  England's  Aid;  or,  The  Freeing  of  the  Netherlands 

(iri8.'>-1604).    By  G.  A.  Hknty.   With  iUustratlons  by  Alfred  Peabse.    12nio. 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  gl.OO. 

"It  Is  an  admirable  book  for  youngsters.  It  overflows  with  stirring 
Incident  and  «xcltlng  ndvcnture.  and  the  color  of  tlie  era  and  of  the 
scene  are  finely  reproduced.  The  illustrations  add  to  its  attractiveness.  — 
Boston  Gazette. ^  _^___________- 

For  6al(!  by  all  booksidlers.  or  sent  postpaid  on  reecipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,   A.   L.   BURT,   62-68  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.        11 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

By  Right  of  Conquest;  or,    With    Cortez  in    Mexico. 

By   G.   A.   HE^TY.    ^ViLll   illustrations  by  W.  S.  Stagey.    12mo,  cloth, 

olivine  edges,  price  $1.50. 
"  The  conquest  of  Mexico  by  a  small  band  of  resolute  men  under  the 
magniticent  leadership  of  Cortez  is  always  rightfully  ranked  among  the  most 
roniautie  and  daring  exploits  in  history.  'By  Ricrht  of  Conquest'  is  the 
neaiest  av>proach  to  a  perfectly  successful  historical  tale  that  Mr.  Henty 
has  yet  published."— Academy. 

For   Name  and  Fame;    or,   Through   Afghan  Passes. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.    12mo,  cloth- 

olivine  edges,  price  $1 .00. 

"Not  only  a  rousing  story,  replete  with  all  the  varied  forms  of  excite- 
ment of  a  campaign,  but,  what  is  still  more  useful,  an  account  of  a 
territory  and  its  inhabitants  wh-ch  must  for  a  long  time  possess  a  supremo 
interest  for  Englishmen,  as  being  the  key  to  our  Indian  Empire."— 
Glasgow  Herald. 

The  Bravest  of  the  Brave;  or,  With  Peterborough  in 

Spain.    By  G.  A.   Henty.    With  illustrations   by  H.   M.    Paget.     12mo 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Mr.  Henty  never  loses  sight  of  the  moral  purpose  of  his  work — to 
enforce  the  doctrine  of  courage  and  truth,  mercy  and  loving  ki  idness, 
as  indispensable  to  the  making  of  a  gentleman.  Boys  will  rea.  'The 
Bravest  of  the  Brave'  with  pleasure  and  profit;  of  that  we  are  quite 
sure." — Daily    Telegraph. 

The  Cat  of  Bubastes :  A  Story  of  Ancient  Egypt.     By 

G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"The  story,  from  the  critical  moment  of  the  killing  of  the  sacred  cat 
to  the  perilous  exodus  into  Asia  with  which  it  closes,  is  very  skillfully 
constructed  and  full  of  exciting  adventures.  It  is  admirably  illustrated." 
— Saturday  Review. 

Bonnie  Prince  Charlie:     A  Tale  of  Fontenoy  and  Cul- 

loden.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Bro-^ni  .    12mo, 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  Sl-00. 

"Ronald,  the  hero,  is  very  like  the  hero  of  'Quentin  Durward.'  The 
lad's  journey  across  France,  and  his  hairbreadth  escapes,  mai.ea  up  as 
good  a  narrative  of  the  kind  as  we  have  ever  read.  For  freshness  of 
treatment  and  variety  of  incident  Mr.  Henty  has  surpassed  himself." — 
Spectator. 

With  Clive  in  India ;  or.  The  Beginnings  of  an  Empire. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.    12mo,  cloth, 

olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"He  has  taken  a  period  of  Indian  history  of  the  most  vital  impor- 
tance, and  he  has  embroidered  on  the  historical  facts  'a  story  which  of 
itself  is  deeply  interesting.  Young  people  assuredly  will  be  delighted 
with   the   volume." — Scotsman. 

In  the  Reign  of  Terror:  The  Adventures  of  a  West- 
minster Boy.  By  G.  A.  Henty.  With  illustrations  by  J.  Schonbero. 
12mo,  cloth,  oliviiie  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Harry  Sandwith,  the  Westminster  boy,  may  fairly  be  said  to  beat 
Mr.  Henty's  record.  His  adventures  will  delight  boys  by  the  audacity 
and  peril  they  depict.  The  story  is  one  of  Mr.  Henty's  best." — Saturday 
Review. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  ou  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  62-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


12        A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

The  Lion  of  the  North:    A  Tale  of  Gustavus  Adolphus 

and  the  Wars  of  Reliprion.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  John 

ScHONBERG.    12tno,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"A  praiseworthy  attempt  to  interest  British  youth  In  the  great  deeds 
of  the  Scotch  BriKade  in  the  wars  of  (iustavus  Alolphus.  Macliey,  Hep- 
hurn,  and  Muiiro  live  again  In  Mr.  Henty's  pages,  as  those  deserve  to 
live  whose  diKeif)lined  i)and8  formed  really  the  germ  of  the  modem 
British  army." — AthenaBura. 

The  Dragon  and  the  Raven;    or,   The   Days  of   King 

Alfred.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  C.  J.  SxANiLAjn).    12mo-, 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

In  this  story  the  author  gives  an  account  of  the  fierce  struggle  be- 
tween Saxon  and  Dane  for  supremacy  In  England,  and  presents  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  misery  and  ruin  to  which  the  country  was  reduced  by  the 
ravages  of  the  sea-wolves.  The  story  is  treated  in  a  manner  most  at- 
tractive  to   the   l)oyish    reader." — Athenaeum. 

The  Young  Carthaginian:     A  Story  of  the  Times  of 

Hannibal.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  C.  J.  Staniland.  12mo, 

cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Well  constructed  and  vividly  told.  From  first  to  last  nothing  stays 
the  interest  of  the  narrative.  It  bears  us  along  as  on  a  stream  whose 
current  varies  in  direction,   but  never  loses  its  force." — Saturday  Review. 

In  Freedom's  Cause:     A  Story  of  Wallace  and  Bruce. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.    12mo,  cloth, 

olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"It  Is  written  In  the  author's  best  style.  Full  of  the  wildest  and  most 
remarkable  achievements,  it  is  a  tale  of  great  interest,  which  a  l>ov.  once 
he  has  begun  it,   will  not  willingly  put  one  side." — The  Schoolmaster, 

With  Wolfe  in  Canada;  or,  The  Winning  of  a  Con- 
tinent. By  G.  A.  Henty.  With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.  12mo, 
cloth,  olivme  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"A  model  of  what  a  boys'  stor.v-book  should  be.  Mr.  Henty  has  a 
great  power  of  infusing  into  the  dead  facts  of  history  new  life,  and  as 
no  pains  are  spared  l»y  him  to  ensure  accuracy  in  historic  details,  his 
books  supply  useful  aids  to  study  as  well  as  amusement." — School  Guard- 
ian. 

True  to  the  Old  Flag:    A  Tale  of  the  American  War  of 

Independence.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne. 

12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $l.oa 

"Does  justice  to  the  pluck  and  determination  of  the  British  sollders 
during  the  unfortunate  struggle  against  American  emancipation.  The  son 
of  an  American  loyalist,  w^ho  remains  true  to  our  Hag,  falls  among  the 
hostile  red-skins  in  that  very  Huron  country  which  has  been  endeared 
to   us   by    the   exploits   of   Hawkeye   and   Chingachgook." — The   Times. 

A  Final  Reckoning:     A    Tale  of  Bush    Life  in  Aus- 
tralia.   By  G.  A.  Hknty.    With  illustrations  by  W.  B.  Wollkn.    12mo, 
cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 
"All  boys  will  read  this  story  with  eager  and  unflagging  Interest.     The 

episodes  are   in   Mr.    Henty's   very   best   vein — grnphie.    exciting,    realistic; 

and,   as  In  all  Mr»  Henty's  books,   the  tendency  is  to  the  formation  of  au 

honorable,    manly,    and   even    heroic   character." — Birmingham    Post. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  po;^tpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUKT,  68-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOE  YOUNG  PEOPLE.        13 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

The  Lion  of  St.  Mark:    A  Tale  of  Venice  in  the  Four- 
teenth Century.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne. 
12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 
"Every  boy  should  read  'The  Lion  of  St.  Mark.'     Mr.  Ilenty  has  never 

produced  a  story  more  delightful,  more  wholesome,  or  more  vivacious." — 

Saturday    Review. 

Facing  Death;  or.  The  Hero  of  the  Vanghan  Pit.    A 

Tale  of  the  Coal  Mines.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Gordon 

Browne.    18mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"The  tale  is  well  written  and  well  illustrated,  and  there  is  much 
Beality  in  the  characters.  If  any  father,  clergyman,  or  schoolmaster 
is  on  the  lookout  for  a  good  book  to  give  as  a  present  to  a  boy  who  is 
worth  his  salt,   this  is  the  book  we  would  recommend." — Standard. 

Maori  and  Settler:      A  Story  of  the  New  Zealand  War. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  Alfred  Pearse.    12mo,  cloth> 

olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"In  the  adventures  among  the  Maoris,  there  are  many  breathless 
moments  in  which  the  odds  seem  hopelessly  against  the  party,  but  they 
succeed  in  establishing  themselves  happily  in  one  of  the  pleasant  New 
Zealand  valleys.  It  is  brimful  of  adventure,  of  humorous  and  interesting 
conversation,   and  vivid  pictures  of  colonial  life." — Schoolmaster. 

One  of  the  28th:     A  Tale  of  Waterloo.     By   G.   A. 

Henty.    With  illustrations  by  W.  H.  Overend.      13mo,    cloth,  olivine 

edges,  price  $1.00. 
"Written  with  Homeric  vigor  and  heroic  Inspiration.  It  Is  graphic, 
picturesque,  and  dramatically  effective  .  .  .  shows  us  Mr.  Henty  at 
his  best  and  brightest.  The  adventures  will  hold  a  boy  enthralled  as  he 
rushes  through  them  with  breathless  interest  'from  cover  to  cover.'  " — 
Observer. 

Orange  and  Green:     A  Tale  of  the  Boyne  and  Limer- 
ick.   By  G.  A.  Henty.     With  illustrations  by  Gordon  Browne.      12mo, 
cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00, 
"The  narrative  is  free    from    the  vice    of    prejudice,  and    ripples    with 

life  as  If  what  is  being  described  were  really  passing  before  the  eye." — 

Belfast   News-Letter. 

Through  the  Fray:     A  Story  of   the    Lnddite    Eiots. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations  by  H.  M.  Paget.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine 

edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Mr.  Henty  inspires  a  love  and  admiration  for  straightforwardness,  truth 
and  courage.  This  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  many  good  books  Mr. 
Henty  has  produced,  and  deserves  to  be  classed  with  his  'Facing  Death.'  " 
— Standard. 

The  Young  Midshipman:  A  Story  of  the  Bombard- 
ment of  Alexandria.  With  illustrations.  12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges, 
price  $1.00. 

A  coast  fishing  lad,  by  an  act  of  heroism,  secures  the  Interest  of 
a  shipowner,  who  places  him  as  an  apprentice  on  board  one  of  his  ships. 
In  company  with  two  of  his  fellow-apprentices  he  is  left  behind,  at 
Alexandria,  in  the  hands  of  the  revolted  Egyptian  troops,  and  is  present 
through  the  bombardment  and  the  scenes  of  riot  and  bloodshed  which 
accompanied  It. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  52-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


14        A.  L.  BURT^S  ROOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

In    Times    of    Peril.     A  Tale  of    India.    By  G.  A. 

Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth,  oUvine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

The  hero  of  the  story  early  excites  our  admiration,  and  is  altogether 
a  fine  character  such  as  boys  will  delight  in,  whilst  the  Story  of  the 
campaign  is  very  graphically   told." — St.  James's  Gazette. 

The  Cornet'  of  Horse:     A  Tale  of  Marlborougli's  Wars. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth,  ohvine  edges,  price  $1. 

"Mr.  Henty  not  only  concocts  a  thrilling  tale,  he  weaves  fact  and  fiction 
together  with  so  skillful  a  hand  that  the  reader  cannot  help  acquiring  a 
Just  and  clear  view  of  that  fierce  and  terrible  struggle  known  as  the 
Crimean  War." — Athenaeum. 

The  Young  Franc-Tireurs :    Their  Adventures  in  the 

Fianco-Prussian  War.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth, 

olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"A  capital  book  for  boys.  It  is  bright  and  readable,  and  full  of  good 
sense  and  manliness.  It  teaches  pluck  and  patience  In  adversity,  and 
shows   that    right   living   loads   to   success." — Observer. 

The  Young  Colonists:    A  Story  of  Life  and  War  in 

South  Africa.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine 

edges,  price  $1.00. 

"No  boy  needs  to  have  any  story  of  Henty 's  recommended  to  him,  and 
parents  who  do  not  know  and  buy  them  for  their  boj'S  should  be  ashamed 
of  themselves.  Those  to  whom  he  is  yet  unknown  could  not  make  a 
better    beginning    than    with    this   book. 

The  Young  Buglers.     A  Tale  of  the  Peninsular  War. 

By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    ]2mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1. 

"Mr.  Henty  is  a  giant  among  boys*  writers,  and  his  books  are  suflQ- 
clently  popular  to  be  sure  of  a  welcome  anywhere.  In  stirring  Interest, 
this  is  (juite  up  to  the  level  of  Mr.  Henty's  former  historical  tales." — 
Saturday  Review. 

Sturdy  and  Strong;  or,  How  George  Andrews  Made  his 

Way.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo.  cloth,  olivine  edges, 

price  SI. 00. 

"The  history  of  a  hero  of  everyday  life,  whose  love  of  tr  th,  clothing  of 
modesty,  and  innate  pluck,  carry  him,  naturally,  from  pov  rty  to  afflu- 
ence. George  Andrews  is  an  example  of  character  with  nothing  to  cavil 
at,  and  stands  as  a  good  Instance  of  chivalry  in  domestic  life." — The 
Empire. 

Among  Malay  Pirates.     A    Story  of    Adventure   and 

Peril.    By  G.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges, 

price  $1.00. 

"Incident  succeeds  incident,  and  adventure  Is  piled  upon  adventure, 
and  at  the  end  the  reader,  be  he  boy  or  man,  will  have  experienced 
breathless  enjoyment  in  a  romantic  story  that  must  have  taught  him 
much   at    Its   close." — Army   and   Navy   Gazette. 

Jack  Archer.      A    Tale    of    the    Crimea.     By  G.  A. 

Henty.    With  illustratif)ns,    12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Mr.  Henty  not  only  concocts  a  thrilling  tale,  he  weaves  fact  and  fiction 
together  with  so  skillful  a  hand  that  the  reader  cannot  help  acquiring  a 
Just  and  clear  view  of  that  fierce  and  terrible  struggle." — Athenaeum. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,   A.   L.   BURT,  62-58  Duane  Street,   New  York. 


A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.        15 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Friends,  Though  Divided.    A  Tale  of  the  Civil  War. 

By  (r.  A.  Henty.    With  illustrations.     12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $t. 

"It  has  a  good  plot;  It  abounds  in  action;  the  scenes  are  equally  spirited 
and  realistic,  and  we  can  only  say  we  have  read  it  with  much  pleasure 
from  first  to  last." — Times. 

Out  on  the  Pampas;    or.    The    Young    Settlers.    By 

G.  A.  Henty,    With  illustrations.    12mo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $\  00. 

"A  really  noble  story,  which  adult  readers  will  find  to  the  full  as  satis- 
fying as  the  boys.  Lucky  boys!  to  have  such  a  caterer  as  Mr.  G.  A 
Henty." — Black  and  White. 

The  Boy  Knight :      A  Tale  of  the  Crusades.    By  G.  A 

Hknty.    With  illustrations.    ISJmo,  cloth,  olivine  edges,  price  $1.00. 

"Of  stirring  episode  there  is  no  lack.  The  book,  with  its  careful  accu' 
racy  and  its  descriptions  of  all  the  chief  battles,  will  give  many  a  school- 
boy  his  first  roal  understanding  of  a  very  important  period  of  history." — 
St.  James's  Gazette. 

The  Wreck  of  the  Golden  Fleece.     The  Story  of  a  North 

Sea  Fisher  Boy.    By  Robert  Leighton.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 

A  description  of  life  on  the  wild  North  Sea, — the  hero  being  a  parson's 
Bou  who  is  appreciated  on  board  a  Lowostoft  fishing  lugger.  The  lad  has 
to  suffer  many  buffets  from  his  shipmates,  while  the  storms  and  dangers 
which  he  braved  on  board  the  "North  Star"  are  set  forth  with  minute 
knowledge  and  intense  power.  The  wreck  of  the  "Golden  Fleece"  forms 
the  climax  to  a  thrilling  series  of  desperate  mischances. 

Olaf  the  Glorious.     A  Story  of  the  Viking  Age.    By 

Robert  Leighton.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1 .00. 

This  story  of  Olaf  the  Glorious,  King  of  Norway,  opens  with  the  incident 
of  his  being  found  by  his  uncle  living  as  a  bond-slave  in  Esthonia;  thou 
come  his  adventures  as  a  Viking  and  his  raids  upon  the  coasts  of  Scot- 
land and  England,  his  victorious  battle  against  the  English  at  Maldon  in 
Essex,  his  being  bought  off  by  Ethelred  the  Unready,  and  his  conversion 
to  Christianity.  He  then  returns  to  Pagan  Norway,  is  accepted  as  king, 
and  converts  his  people  to  the  Christian  faith. 

To  Greenland  and  the  Pole.     A  story  of  Adventure  in 

the  Arctic  Regions.    By  Gordon  Stables.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 

The  unfail'ng  fascination  of  Arctic  venturing  Is  presented  in  this  si;ory 
^vith  new  vividness.  It  deals  with  skilobning  in  the  north  of  Scotland, 
deer-hunting  In  Norway,  sealing  in  the  Arctic  Seas,  bear-stalking  on  the 
ice-floes,  the  hardships  of  a  journey  across  Greenland,  and  a  successful 
voyage  to  the  back  of  the  North  Pole.  This  is.  Indeed,  a  real  sea-yarn 
by  a  real  sailor,  and  the  tone  is  as  bright  and  wholesome  as  the  adventures 
are   numerous. 

Yussuf  the  Guide.      A    Story   of   Adventure  in   Asia 

Minor.    By  George  Manville  Fenn.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

This  story  deals  with  the  stirring  Incidents  In  the  career  of  a  lad  who  has 
been  almost  given  over  by  the  doctors,  but  who  rapidly  recovers  health 
and  strength  in  a  journey  through  Asia  Minor.  The  adventures  are  many, 
and  culminate  In  the  travellers  being  snowed  up  for  the  winter  in  the 
mountains,  from  which  they  escape  while  their  captors  are  waiting  for 
the  ransom  that  does  not  come. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  th0 
publisher,  A.  L.  BVET,  62-58  Duane  Street,  New  YorH. 


y 


16       A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Grettir  the  Outlaw.    A  Story  of  Iceland.    By  S.  Bae- 

iNO-GoDLD.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Si  00. 

"This  Is  the  boys'  book  of  the  year.  That  Is,  of  course,  as  much  as 
to  say  that  It  will  do  for  men  grown  as  well  as  juniors.  It  is  told  in 
simple,  straightforward  English,  as  all  stories  should  be,  and  it  has  a 
freshness   and    freedom   which    make   it   irresistible." — National    Observer. 

Two   Thousand    Years  Ago.      The    Adventures    of    a 

Roman  Boy.    By  A.  J.  Church,    litoo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  Jl.OO. 

"Prof.  Church  has  in  this  story  sought  to  revivify  that  most  interesting 
period,  the  last  days  of  the  Roman  Republic.  The  book  is  extremely  en- 
tertaining as  well  as  useful;  there  is  a  wonderful  freshnese  In  the  Roman 
scenes  and  characters." — Times. 

Nat  the  Naturalist.  A  Boy's  Adventure  in  the  East- 
ern Seas.  By  George  Manville  Fenn.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 
Nat  and  his  uncle  Dick  go  on  a  voyage  to  the  remoter  islands  of  the 
Eastern  seas,  and  their  adventures  are  told  in  a  truthful  and  vastly  in- 
teresting fashion.  The  descriptions  of  Mr.  Ebony,  their  black  comradCj 
and  of  the  scenes  of  savage  life,  are  full  of  genuine  humor. 

The  Log  of  the  Flying  Fish.      A  Story  of  Peril  and 

Adventure.    By  Harry  Colo^ingwood.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 

"This  story  Is  full  of  even  more  vividly  recounted  adventures  than  those 
Whiclf  charmed  so  many  boy  readers  in  'Pirate  Island'  and  'Congo  Rovers.' 
.  .  .  There  is  a  thrilling  adventure  on  the  precipices  of  Mount  Everest, 
when  the  ship  floats  off  and  providentially  returns  by  force  of  'gravita- 
tion.' " — Academy, 

The  Congo  Rovers.    A  Story  of  the   Slave   Squadron. 

Bj'  Harry  Colx.ingwood.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  fl.OO. 

"The  scene  of  this  tale  is  laid  on  the  west  coast  of  Africa,  and  In  the 
lower  reaches  of  the  Congo;  the  characteristic  scenery  of  the  great  river 
being  delineated  with  wonderful  accuracy.  Mr.  Collingwood  carries  us  off 
for  another  cruise  at  sea,  in  'The  Congo  Hovers,'  and  boys  will  need  no 
pressing  to  join  the  daring  crew,  which  seeks  adventures  and  meets  with 
any  number  of  them." — The  Times. 

Boris  the  Bear  Hunter.    A  Tale  of  Peter  the  Great  and 

His  Times.    By  Fred  Wishaw.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"This  is  a  capital  story.     The  characters  are  marked  and  lifelike,  and  it 
is  full  of  incident  and  adventure." — Standard. 

Michael  Strogoff ;  or,  The  Courier  of  the  Czar.    By 

JuLKs  Vernk.    l2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  story  is  full  of  originality  and  vigor.  The  characters  are  lifelike, 
there  is  plenty  of  stirring  incident,  the  Interest  is  sustained  throughout, 
and  every  boy  will  enjoy  following  the  fortunes  of  the  hero." — Journal  oC 
Education. 

Mother  Carey's  Chicken.     Her  Voyage  to  the  Unknown 

Isle.    By  George  Manville  Fenn.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Undoubtedly  one  of  the  best  Mr.  Fenn  has  written.  The  Incidents  are 
of  thrilling  Interest,  while  the  characters  are  drawn  with  a  care  and  com- 
pleteness rarely  found  in  a  boy's  book." — Literary  World. 

For  snle  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  th*" 
publisher.  A.  L.  BUET,  68-68  Duane  Street,  Tfew  York. 


A.  t.  buet's  books  foe  young  people.      17 
BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Dick  Sand;   or,  A    Captain    at    Fifteen.     By  Jules 

Verne,    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Jules  Verne  himself  never  constructed  a  more  marvellous  tale.  It  con- 
tains the  strongly  marked  features  that  are  always  conspicuous  in  his 
stories — a  racy  humor,  the  manly  vigor  of  Ms  sentiment,  and  wholesome 
moral  lessons." — Christian  Leader. 

Erling  the  Bold.     A  Tale  of  the    Norse    Sea   Kings. 

By  R.  M.  Ballantyne.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  volume  makes  a  really  fascinating  book,  worthy  of  its  telling 
title.  There  is,  we  venture  to  say,  not  a  dull  chapter  in  the  book,  not 
a  page  which  will  not  bear  a  second   reading." — Guardian. 

Masterman  Ready;  or.  The  Wreck  of  the  Pacific.    By 

Captain  Marryat.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"As  racy  a  tale  of  life  at  sea  and  adventure  as  we  have  met  with  for 
some  time.  .  .  .  Altogether  the  sort  of  book  that  boys  will  revel  in." 
— Athenaeum, 

The  Green  Mountain  Boys.  A  Tale  of  the  Early  Set- 
tlement of  Vermont.  By  D.  P.  Thompson.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1. 
A  story  of  very  great  interest  for  boys.  In  his  own  forcible  style  the 
author  has  endeavored  to  show  that  determination  and  patriotic  enthu- 
siasm can  accomplish  marvellous  results.  This  story  gives  a  graphic  ac- 
count of  the  early  settlers  of  Vermont,  and  their  patriotic  efforts  in  de- 
fending  their  homes  from  the  invasions  of  enemies. 

Every  Inch  a  Sailor.     By   Gordon   Stables.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00, 

"A  story  which  is  quite  as  good  in  its  way  as  'Treasure  Island,'  and  is 
full  of  adventure  of  a  stirring  yet  most  natural  kind.  Although  it  is 
primarily  a  boys'  book,  it  is  a  real  godsend  to  the  elderly  reader." — 
Evening  Times. 

The  Golden  Galleon.     A  Narrative    of    Adventure  on 

Her  Majesty's  Ship  the  Revenge.    By  Robert  Leighton.     12mo,  clotii, 

illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  story  should  add  considerably  to  Mr.  Leighton's  high  reputation. 
Excellent  in  every  respect,  it  contains  every  variety  of  incident.  The  plot 
is  very  cleverly  devised,  and  the  types  of  the  North  Sea  sailors  are 
capital." — The  Times. 

The  Gorilla  Hunters.    A  Tale  of  the  Wilds  of  Africa. 

By  R.  M.  Ballantyne.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"We  conscientiously  belive  that  boys  will  find  it  capital  reading.  It  is 
full  of  incident  and  mystery,  and  the  mystery  is  itept  up  to  the  last 
moment.  It  is  full  of  stirring  adventure,  daring  and  many  escapes;  and 
It  has  a  historical  interest." — Times. 

Gascoyne    the    Sandalwood    Trader.    By  R.  M.  Bal- 
lantyne.   12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  the  best  stories  of  seafaring  life  and  adventure  which  have 
appeared  this  season.  Entertaining  in  the  highest  degree  from  beginning 
to  end,  and  full  of  adventure  which  Is  aU  the  livelier  for  its  close  con- 
nection with  history." — Spectator. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  62-68  Dimne  Street.  N»w  York. 


18        A.  L.  BURT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS.  ' 

Two  Years  Before  the  Mast.    A  Personal  Narrative  of 

Life  at  Sea.    By  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr.    12nio,  doth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  the  very  best  books  for  boys  that  we  have  seen  for  a  long  time: 
its  author  stands  far  in  advance  of  any  other  writer  for  boys  as  a  teller 
of  stories  of  the  sea." — The  Standard. 

The  Young  Rajah.    A  Story  of  Indian  Life.    By  W. 

H.  G.  Kingston.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  story  will  place  the  author  at  once  in  the  front  rank.  It  Is  full 
of  life  and  adventure,  and  the  interest  is  sustained  without  a  break  from 
first  to  last." — Standard. 

How  Jack  Mackenzie  Won  His  Epaulettes.    A  Story 

of  the  Crimean  War.     By  Gordon  Stables.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated 

price  $1.00. 

"This  must  rank  among  the  few  undeniably  good  boys'  books.  He 
will  be  a  very  dull  boy  indeed  who  lays  it  down  without  wishing  that 
It  had  gone  on  for  at  least  100  pages  more." — Mail. 

The  King's  Pardon.    A  Story  of  Land  and  Sea.    By 

Robert  Overton.    ]2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"An  excellent  story,  the  interest  being  sustained  from  first  to  last. 
This  is,  both  in  its  intention  and  the  way  the  story  is  told,  one  of  the 
best  books  of  its  kind  which  has  come  before  us  this  year.  "—Saturday 
Heview. 

Under  the  Lone  Star.     A  Story  of  the  Eevolution  in 

Nicaragua.    By  Herbert  Haynes.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"We  have  not  of  late  come  across  a  historical  fiction,  whether  intended 
for  boys  or  for  men,  which  deserves  to  be  so  heartily  and  unreservedly 
praised  as  regards  plot,  incidents,  and  spirit  as  this  book.  It  is  its  au- 
thor's masterpiece  as  yet." — Spectator. 

Geoff  and  Jim:  A  Story  of  School  Life.    By  Ismay 

Thorn.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"This  is  a  prettily  told  story  of  the  life  spent  by  two  motherless  balms 
at  a  small  prei)aratory  school.  Both  Gooff  and  Jim  are  very  lovable  char- 
acters, only  Jim  is  the  more  so;  and  the  scrapes  he  gets  into  and  the 
trials  he  endures  will,  no  doubt,  interest  a  large  circle  of  young  readers." 
—Church  Times. 

Jack:  A  Topsy  Turvy  Story.    By  C.  M.  Crawley- 

BoEVBY.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  Illustrations  deserve  particular  mention,  as  they  add  largely  to 
the  interest  of  this  amusing  vnlunie  for  children.  Jack  falls  asleep  with 
his  mind  full  of  the  subject  of  the  fishpond,  and  Is  very  much  surprised 
presently  to  find  himself  an  inhabitant  of  Waterworld,  where  ho  goes 
through  wonderful  and  edifying  adventures.  A  handsome  and  pleasant 
book."— Literary  World. 

Black  Beauty.     The  Autobiography  of  a  Horse,    By 

Anna  Sewell,    i2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

This  Is  the  life  story  of  a  horse;  how  he  was  ill  treated  and  well 
cared  for.  The  experiences  of  Black  Beauty,  Ginger,  and  Merry  legs  are 
extremely  Interesting.  Wherever  children  are,  whether  boys  or  girls,  there 
this  Autobiography  should  be.  It  inculcates  habits  of  kindness  to  all  mem- 
bers of  the  animal  creation.     The  literary  merit  of  the  book  is  excellent. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BVST.  68-68  Duane  Street.  Kew  York. 


A.  L.  BtJRT^S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.        19 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

Mopsa  the  Fairy.    By  Jean  Ingelow.     12mo,  cloth, 

illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Mrs.  Ingelow  is,  to  our  mind,  the  most  eliarming  of  all  living  writers 
for  children,  and  'Mopsa'  alone  ought  to  give  her  a  Isiind  of  pre-emptive 
right  to  the  love  and  gratitude  of  our  young  folks.  It  requires  genius 
to  conceive  a  purely  imaginary  work  which  must  of  necessity  deal  with 
the  supernatural,  without  running  into  a  mere  riot  of  fantastic  absurdity; 
but  genius  Mrs.  Ingelow  has,  and  the  story  of  'Jack'  is  as  careless  and 
joyous,  but  as  delicate  as  a  picture  of  childhood." — Eclectic. 

Carrots:  Just  a  Little  Boy.    By  Mrs.  Molesworth. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"One  of  the  cleverest  and  most  pleasing  stories  it  has  been  our  goodl 
fortune  to  meet  with  for  some  time.  Carrots  and  his  sister  are  delight- 
ful little  beings,  whom  to  read  about  is  at  once  to  become  very  fond  of. 
A  genuine  children's  book;  we've  seen  'em  seize  it,  and  read  it  greedily. 
Children  are  first-rate  critics,  and  thoroughly  appreciate  Walter  Crane's 
illustrations. ' ' — Punch. 

Larry's  Luck.     By  the  author  of  "Miss  Toosey's  Mis- 
sion."   12nio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"It  is  believed  that  this  story,  by  this  favorably  known  author  of 
'Miss  Toosey's  Mission,'  will  be  found  both  highly  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive to  the  young.  Whether  the  readers  are  nine  years  old,  or  twice  as 
old,   they  must  enjoy  this  pretty  volume." — The  Examiner. 

A  Child's  Christmas:  A  Sketch  of  Boy  Life.     By  Mrs. 

Molesworth.    12uio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"This  is  another  of  those  delightful  juvenile  stories  of  which  this  author 
has  written   so  many.     It   is   a   fascinating  little  book,    with  a  charming 
plot,   a   sweet,    pure   atmosphere,    and  teaches  a  wholesome   moral  in  the 
most  winning  manner." — Gazette. 

Chunk,  Fusky  and  Snout.     A  Story  of  Wild  Pigs  for 

Little  People.    By  Gerald  Young.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  story  is  an  extremely  interesting  one,  full  of  Incident,  told  in  a 

quiet,    healthful    way,    and    with    a    great    deal   of    pleasantly    Interfused 

Information  about  wild   pigs  and  their  ways.     It  is  sure  to  interest  both 

boys  and  girls." — Christian  Union. 

Paddy's  Boy.     By  L.  T.  Meade.     12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
trated, price  75  cents. 

"A  charming  story  of  child  life.  Little  Sir  Rowland  is  one  of  the 
most  fascinating  of  the  misunderstood  child  heroes  of  the  day.  The  quaint 
doings  and  imaginings  of  this  gentle,  lovable,  but  highly  original  child  are 
introduced  by  Mrs.  Meade,  with  all  her  accustomed  pathos." — Guardian. 

Adventures    of    Prince    Prigio. '  By   Andrew    LanGo 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"This  book  has  so  much  charm  of  style  and  good  writing  that  it  will  be 
eagerly  read  by  many  other  than  the  young  folk  for  whom  it  is  intended." 
—Black  and  White. 

A  Flock  of  Four.     A  Story  for  Boys  and  Girls.     By 

IsMAY  Thorn.    12nio,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"As  a  gift  book  for  boys  it  is  among  the  best  new  books  of  the  kind. 
The  story  is  interesting  and  natural,   from  first  to  last." — Gazette. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUBT,  52-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


20       A.  t.  BtJRT^S  BOOKS  FOE  YOUNG  PEOPLE, 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS. 

A  Flat  Iron  for  a  Farthing.     The  Story  of  an  Only 

Son,    By  Juliana  Horatia  Ewino.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"A  very  good  book  it  is,  full  of  adventure,  graphically  told.  The  style 
is  just  what  it  should  be;  simple  but  not  bold,  full  of  pleasant  humor, 
and  with  some  pretty  touches  of  feeling.  Like  all  Mrs.  Swing's  tales. 
It  is  sound,  sensible,  and  wholesome." — ^Times. 

The  Greek  Heroes.     Fairy  Tales  for  My  Children.    By 

Charles  Kingslet.    ISmo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"We  do  not  think  these  heroic  stories  have  ever  been  more  attractively 
told.  .  .  There  is  a  deep  under-current  of  religious  feeling  traceable 
throughout  Its  pages  which  is  sure  to  influence  young  readers  power 
fully.  One  of  the  children's  books  that  will  surely  become  a  classic."— 
Lond()fe  Review. 

Jackanapes.     By  Juliana  Horatia  Ewing.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"This  is  one  of  Mrs.  Ewing's  charming  little  stories  for  young  children. 
The  narrative  ...  is  full  of  interest  for  its  real  grace  and  delicacy, 
and  the  exquisiteness  and  purity  of  the  English  in  which  it  is  written." — 
Boston  Advertiser. 

Princess  and  Curdie.    By  George  Macdonald.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"One  of  the  cleverest  and  most  pleasing  stories  It  has  been  our  good 
fortune  to  meet  with  for  some  time.  The  Princess  and  Curdie  are  delight- 
ful little  beings,  whom  to  read  about  Is  at  once  to  become  very  fond  of." 
—Examiner. 

Peter  the  Pilgrim.     The  Story  of  a  Boy  and  His  Pet 

Rabbit.    By  L.  T.  Meadk.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Little  Peter,  with  his  soft  heart,  clever  head,  and  brave  spirit  is  no 
morbid  presentment  of  the  angelic  child  'too  good  to  live,'  and  who  is 
certainly  a  nuisance  on  earth,  but  a  charming  creature,  if  not  a  por- 
trait, whom  it  is  a  privilege  to  meet  even  in  fiction." — The  Academy. 

We  and  the  World.    A  Story  for  Boys.     By  Juliana 

Horatia  Ewing.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  author  has  evidently  studied  the  ways  and  tastes  of  children  and 
got  at  the  secret  of  amusing  them;  and  has  succeeded  In  what  is  not 
3o  easy  a  task  as  it  may  seem — In  producing  a  really  good  children's 
book." — Daily  Telegraph. 

little    Ivan's    Hero.     A    Story    of    Child    Life.    By 

Helen  Milman.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"We  should  imagine  those  'queer  folk  indeed  who  could  not  read  this 
story  with  eager  interest  and  pleasure,  be  they  boys  or  girls,  young  or 
oki.  We  highly  commend  the  style  in  which  the  book  Is  written,  and  the 
spirit  which  pervades  it."— "World. 

Dick,  Marjorie  and  Fidge.     The  Wonderful  Adventures 

of  Three  Little  People.    By  G.  E.  Farrow.    12mo,  cloth,  illust'd,  price  75c. 

"...     To  the  young,  for  whom  It  Is  especially  intended,  this  is  a 

V      most  Interesting  book   of  adventures,   well   told,    and   a   pleasant   book   to 

/^       take  up  when  their  wish  is  to  while  away  n  weary  half-hour.     We  have 

seen  no  prettier  gift-book  for  a  long  time." — Athenaeum. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpnid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUBT.  52-58  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


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